


A Very Angbang Advent

by witchkings



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Advent Calendar, Baking, Christmas, Darklords, Decorating, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Series, Established Relationship, M/M, Mairon is obsessed with Christmas, Minor arguments, Modern AU, Songs, a few instances of smut, angbang galore, banker!Mairon, based on 2021 dates, festive, holiday spirit until you vomit, many characters may or may not appear or be alluded to, seasonal themes, stockbroker!Melkor, though not too explicit, to name a few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchkings/pseuds/witchkings
Summary: When Mairon discovers that his fiancé has lived a life without cheesy holiday traditions, he decides he has to change that. Hellbent on showing Melkor the meaning of Christmas, Mairon drags him through a December that is filled with decorating, cookie baking, awkward encounters and so much Christmas music that Melkor's ears will bleed by the end of it. Melkor, grumpy and annoyed, has trouble making sense of it all.-Modern AU Angbang Advent Calendar
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, others on the side
Comments: 67
Kudos: 81





	1. Wednesday, December 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, my friend (darklord on Tumblr) gave me some Angbang Christmas prompts and because I lack self-preservation, I decided to write a whole Advent Calendar. Hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> A few notes before we begin:  
> -if there are tws, I will put them in the notes before each chapter  
> -these are likely silly and may or may not make you hate Christmas  
> -the dates and days of the week are based on 2021 because in my dreams, life will be back to normal by then

Mairon stood on the balcony of the first floor of the house he and Melkor had bought only this summer, and watched a late sunrise glitter on the soft snow that had fallen below. It bordered on a miracle, the fact that he had woken up to a world covered in powdered white on the first day of December. Snow was rare where they lived, let alone this early into the season, but he embraced it with a wistful smile and held his coffee closer to his chest to warm his heart and cold fingers. He had added a shot of chocolate syrup to it and a Christmas carol balanced precariously on his lips as his stomach fluttered with holiday joy. 

He wasn’t usually a gleeful person, not sentimental or nostalgic, but Christmas unlocked something in him. He remembered endless afternoons on the couch with his brothers Curumo and Aiwendil, their father Aule reading advent stories to them, their mother Yavanna baking cinnamon stars and vanilla biscuits. Their fingers stained orange from peeling mandarins, their excitement crackling like the flames in the hearth, the magic on the air so ripe, Mairon could taste it. They had always done the whole range, singing carols, going to church, shopping for and wrapping presents, partaking in their school’s play. The list went on and on and Mairon’s lips curled into a smile as he remembered these sacred spots of time in his life. He pushed aside the sundering of his family, those dark years that threatened to spoil the memories. These, at least, he would retain.

Alright, so Christmas traditions counted among his weak spots, but Mairon wasn’t ashamed by that. It was part of who he was and even though he had long distanced himself from those people, had moved as far away from his hometown as the country borders would allow him and was engaged to one of the country’s most unscrupulous stock brokers, head of the insidious firm by name of Utumno, Mairon still valued what was ingrained into his soul. As soon as December hit, it was all out glitter, cookies and mistletoes for Mairon. He only hoped that Melkor saw it the same way. Last year, Mairon had been out of the country for the season, on a business trip to Europe for the investment bank, Angband, he worked at and that had broken his spirit a little, which was why he intended to make up for it this year. He smiled and watched the fiery colors play out over the horizon even as his breath puffed in front of his face, swirling with the steam of his overly sweetened milky brew. It wasn’t long before Melkor stepped out with him, mumbling sleepily, with a mug of plain black coffee clutched in his hand. He wrapped one bulky arm around Mairon and pulled him back against his chest, then buried his face against Mairon’s neck. 

“Why on earth are you up?” he said gruffly and Mairon took the hand that rested on his belly, entwined their fingers. It was a rhetorical question, Mairon always got up at six which meant that today, he had already gone for a run and insulted several parents who brought their spawn to school before the sun had even dared to peek over the horizon. He laughed softly.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Wednesday?” Melkor asked, snuggling even closer. His morning arousal pressed insistently against Mairon’s bottom and his own body heat rose to it, but he couldn’t afford the distraction. He had a presentation due at work today and about a hundred meetings and then he would have to make a plan to make the most out of this Christmas season. His skull brimmed with ideas. 

“It’s the first day of December. Which means…”

“What does it mean Mairon?” Melkor’s hand slipped out of Mairon’s and lower, towards the waistband of Mairon’s slacks and he would have allowed the roaming to continue on any other day, but as it was, he had to shoo Melkor away. The reply was an irritated huff that gusted hotly against Mairon’s skin. He sighed. 

“Christmas, you oaf, ‘tis the season and such.”

“…Christmas?”

“Yes,” Mairon said, brows knitting together at the confused undertone in Melkor’s voice. He looked out once more where the reds and pinks slowly faded into a candlelight yellow. His nose was starting to get runny and cold and soon enough, he would have to break the tranquility of this moment. Not just yet though.

“What about it?” Melkor asked.

“Well, everything. Please, don’t tell me you are a Grinch.”

“A what?”

This was getting them nowhere. Sometimes, Mairon could not tell whether Melkor was deliberately dim or whether he was actually unaware of most things culture, and he had a feeling he didn’t want to find out. Time for a more straightforward approach then.

“Can I ask you something, love?”

“Sure.”

“What does Christmas mean to you?” 

Melkor nibbled on Mairon’s ear, then grunted in frustration when Mairon wound out of the hug to face him. To distract further, Melkor took a long gulp of his coffee then rolled his eyes when Mairon tapped his foot on the tile. 

“Honestly,” Melkor said. “Nothing.”

Oh lord. Oh dear. 

“Why not? Have you never celebrated it with your family? I thought your father was such a devoted catholic.” Before the dementia had eaten away his brain, but Mairon didn’t say that out loud. He’d never met the man and wasn’t keen to now.

“Father was busy with his students and the music schools and such. My brother had a lot of friends over, but I mostly locked myself into my room until the new year…” Melkor trailed off with a nonchalant shrug as though it didn’t matter much. Mairon’s heart broke for him. His childhood hadn’t been the easiest either, but without those memories, it would have been a lot more miserable.

“Oh darling,” he said. “You and I are going to have so much fun.”

“Mairon.” Warning had replaced the confusion, but Mairon was having none of it.

“I’m going to show you all my traditions until you vomit Christmas spirit. You are going to love it.”

Melkor groaned, but didn’t protest further. They both knew that once Mairon had gotten something into his head, there was no dispelling it. It was going to be the best Christmas of Mairon’s life.


	2. Thursday, December 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some crude words and sexual implications. Hope you enjoy :)

Mairon was overjoyed to note that Gothmog, his boss, had taken his insistent suggestions pertaining to decoration to heart and had provided each of the workers in the office with a small candle and a tiny wreath with glitter and bells to attach to the top of their computer screens should they so want to. The candles were electric so as not to cause fire hazard, but they were enough to make Mairon feel festive and by the time afternoon rolled around, Thuringwethil - with whom he shared an office - was seething with repressed annoyance. Mairon kept humming Last Christmas under his breath as he finished writing up the assessment Gothmog had asked for regarding their business relationship with one of their partners, a company that specialized in the trade of precious metals, mostly gold, by name of Erebor. Its CEO was starting to get greedier and greedier, making ever more irrational decisions, and Gothmog wanted Mairon to gauge in how far the cooperation was still profitable for Angband.

“If you are going to keep singing under your breath all month long, I’m going to shove this candle up where the sun doesn’t shine,” Thuringwethil said, an hour or so before they were off for the day. Mairon glanced down at the candle which flickered away, giving a sorry sheen of artificial light, and shrugged. 

“I’ve taken worse.”

“You are disgusting.”

“Nothing you didn’t know before.”

“Fine then,” she said through gritted teeth. “Then I will shove as many of these candles up your loose asshole as it takes for you to stop humming songs.” 

“Good luck with that.” Mairon stuck his tongue out and reached for his mug, put it to his lips only to scoff at how empty it was. It had been an hour or so since he last had caffeine, but this gave him ample opportunity to scheme Melkor’s first lesson in the capitalistic glitter wonderland that was Christmas. He shot him a quick message asking to be picked up after work, then went back to proof-reading the text he’d written to send it off. When something hard hit him on the head, Mairon realized he was humming again. Thuringwethil had thrown the candle and looked like she was about to explode which was Mairon’s signal to wrap up for the day. She always had to remind him when to stop or he would simply go on. Exploiting the poor and amassing riches for those who had no use of them - himself and Melkor included - was one of his favorite pastimes. He put a digital signature at the bottom of the file, conjured a few honey-smearing lines of e-mail into which he wove a compliment about Gothmog’s expanding biceps, and then that was that. 

“See you tomorrow,” he cheered when he’d gathered his belongings and turned off both computer and candle. Thuringwethil scowled and said nothing. She would come round to the seasonal spirit, Mairon was sure of it.

Melkor waited in front of the building. He was still clad in the day’s suit, ironed out by virtue of Mairon’s diligence, and wore an expression of blank boredom where he leaned against his Porsche. The car had followed the house almost immediately once Melkor had proposed and Mairon had to admit it was practical and sleek so he’d concurred. 

“Hello, handsome,” Mairon purred as he came up to Melkor whose indifference yielded a tiny bit. He caught Mairon by the hips and pulled him in for a long kiss that was dirty and rough and almost changed Mairon’s mind on the day’s mission. Almost. He extracted himself and once they were both seated, he gave Melkor an address. Not yet what exactly their destination entailed or he was sure, Melkor would circumvent it and drive straight home. 

“How was work?” Melkor asked. His intonation was flat, but his hand on Mairon’s thigh was big and warm, promising more than a cozy night by the fire. Not that they had a fire place, but they could always turn on a video of one and crank up the heater. 

“Great, I got my report done, finished the wrap-up and protocols of all the meetings from yesterday so tomorrow I can get ahead for next week. What about yours? Oh, you need to take a left here, love.”

“Fine,” Melkor said. “Sounds like you had fun today.” He steered the car around the corner and their destination came into view. “If you wanted coffee, I could have just brought you some.” 

“Oh, I want more than just coffee,” Mairon said with a smirk. Melkor pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks and, to Mairon’s surprise, didn’t even protest when asked to come inside. “I’m going to show you what Christmas means, perfectly arrayed in one cup.” 

They spent way too long in line so Melkor got antsy and decided to wait by the car which Mairon could either take offense at or interpret as a vote of confidence. He took the latter, if only to preserve his own sanity. A hunch blossomed in his mind, a small whining noise that told him that his efforts would be wasted on Melkor and his stoicism. But no. Mairon would make him love Christmas if it killed him. When it was finally his turn, he ordered his - and apparently everyone else’s - favorite seasonal drinks. A Peppermint Hot Chocolate and a Gingerbread Latte, the former of which he handed Melkor who waited outside by the car. 

“Here you go.”

“This is vile,” Melkor said after he’d taken a gulp, his features scrunched up. “This is the single most disgusting thing I have ever tasted.” 

“You’re exaggerating,” Mairon replied. He took the cup out of Melkor’s hand and took a sip of it which gave him shivers. So good. How he had missed this. 

“How can you drink that?”

“Try this one.” Mairon held out the Gingerbread Latte and Melkor held it in two fingers, took a tentative baby sip, then hissed and pushed the cup back into Mairon’s hand. 

“That’s even worse, that’s like, like… I lack the eloquence to express how deeply appalled I am. I want to rip my tongue out.”

Mairon was almost impressed at the scope of Melkor’s reaction, if not a little hurt by it. It made him want to dump the coffee over his head, except that would be too big of a waste.

“Don’t you like gingerbread?”

“I do, just not liquid. I’m gonna go and get a black coffee.” With that Melkor stomped off, back into the Starbucks and Mairon glanced down at his two venti drinks on top of which the whipped cream was slowly dissolving. More for him then. Melkor would have to deal with the consequences and Mairon would have to find another way to show him the meaning of Christmas. 


	3. Friday, December 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this dose of nausea-inducing Christmas-ness :D

When Mairon got home for the weekend - normalcy wasn’t Melkor picking him up every day, it was either reminding Thuringwethil of how much he had done for her so that she drove him home or ordering an Uber which both triggered his aggressions and worked wonders for releasing them - Melkor was still at work. With the position he had climbed to and the ruthless reputation he had built for himself, Melkor could choose when he showed up for work and how many hours he did. He had built Utumno up from the ground, had made of it a million-dollar firm, and was brilliant at his job, but the amount of money he made passively and the lack of motivation usually meant he was home by noon. Mairon suspected that yesterday hadn’t given Melkor too sweet a taste - ha - of the upcoming weeks and he tried to hide now. 

“You will not escape me,” Mairon said to himself, to the house, to the dead plant that Melkor insisted they keep in the entryway to scare off visitors - Mairon himself thought he could hear it scratch the wallpapers every once in a while, edging closer to a vile sort of sentience. He had been so productive at work today that he even had a slot of spare time in which he’d taken out his leather-bound notebook and had made a rough schedule of December, brainstorming everything he meant to show Melkor. Today, decorating was on the agenda so Mairon took a quick shower, changed into a more comfortable array of clothes and put his hair up in a bun. By the time Melkor pulled up on their driveway, dirty and half-melted snow squelching under his tires, Mairon had relieved the basement of two dozen boxes which he had brought up into their living and dining area. His collection of Christmas trinkets and decorations was ever expanding through Christmas markets and annual shopping sprees, gifts by devoted ex-lovers or scared co-workers.

Even last year, when he hadn’t been able to celebrate much, he had ducked out of a dinner to peruse one of the Medieval Christmas fairs in Europe which resulted in him having to book an extra suitcase for the flight back. The old, bearded airport worker had not been to happy with the spontaneous change, but then again he had reeked so heavily of weed, that Mairon wasn’t even sure he’d registered what was happening.

Mairon was just about to open the first box when Melkor stepped into the now tight space, exuding fatigue all the way from the thick circles under his eyes to his hunched posture. They’d had a little too much fun last night. The memory made Mairon giggle. 

“Mairon, what the fuck?” 

“Welcome home, dear,” Mairon said and commanded their smart home system to play a random Christmas playlist. As the first notes jingle-jangled through the air, Melkor groaned. 

“What are these?” He pointed at the boxes which were neatly labeled. 

“As you can see and read, they are Christmas decorations.”

“And where did you get them? Don’t tell me you ordered all of these,” Melkor said and shrugged out of his scarf and dark coat, then discarded them on the couch instead of hanging them up in the mini-closet they had for that exact purpose in the hallway. Mairon was so jacked up by the music that he couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed by this. 

“No, of course not, I already owned them.” Though it wasn’t such a bad idea to look online… an interesting prospect Mairon would have to file away for later. 

“Then how come I’ve never seen these before?” Melkor sighed and kicked off his shoes. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. What I want is for you to put all this back where it came from so I can watch football in peace.”

“I will. After we’ve decorated the house together.”

“Mairon…”

“Please, love, for me?” Mairon purred and batted his lashes at Melkor which had the effect of making him blush slightly, even across the room. “If you behave, I will make you lasagna and give you a blowjob before bed.”

“…fine.”

With Melkor’s help, Mairon sorted the boxes into categories, then wrote up a list of what was to be put where. He barely trusted Melkor’s sense of style and that only because matching his suit jacket to his pants wasn’t all that hard, he definitely had no confidence in Melkor’s eye for decorum. Before they had moved in together, the dead plants were the epitome of interior design what with all the walls bare and yellowed and his furniture a ragtag collection scraped together at ridiculously ostentatious auctions. They got to work still engulfed by cheerful, loving music with upbeat melodies and bells in the background, worked in quiet until Mairon became worried. It wasn’t like Melkor not to at least groan or sigh ever so often. 

“How are you faring?” he called out.

“I demand assistance,” came the rumbling reply. When Mairon looked up from the wooden nativity display he had been setting up on the sideboard, Melkor was hidden by a stack of boxes. Mairon put down the white-painted sheep he’d been arranging in clusters around the crib and carefully stepped around so as not to get caught up in coils of tinsel. What he found on the other side made him choke up with laughter. Melkor - who had obviously attempted at adorning the handrail of their stairs with a garland of fake holly and fairy lights - sat on the bottommost stair, looking like the star of a holiday-themed BDSM movie minus the nudity. His upper body was wrapped in the garland which pinned his arms to his side and the fairy lights had tangled at and around his feet, tying them together. 

“How on earth?” Mairon asked, shaking his head with laughter. He prowled over, then climbed onto Melkor’s leg, picking at mussed up strands of his dark hair. Melkor scowled.

“Untie me at once,” he demanded. “I’ve had enough of this Christmas nonsense.”

“Oh, sweetheart, but it is only the third.” Mairon leaned down and captured Melkor’s lips with his own, drowning out all further protests and grumpy comments. Melkor softened under the touch and with a jerk, he freed himself of both his shackles, ripping through the plastic of the holy and crushing some of the lights underfoot.

“You will replace those,” Mairon murmured against his lips, then yelped as Melkor grabbed him by the bottom and stood up to carry him upstairs. 


	4. Saturday, December 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue whether advent wreaths are a thing outside of Germany, please enlighten me if you practice this tradition :D Hope you enjoy! :)

The next morning, Mairon woke up late to a fresh sheen of snow that sat a couple of inches high on their window sill. He was on Melkor’s side of the bed, the one farthest from the door with said man wrapped around him, snoring contentedly. Melkor slept on even as Mairon pried his massive hand away and turned him onto his back, only to climb on top of him under their shared blanket. With how prone he was to freezing, Melkor’s massive body that constantly exuded heat, was more than practical, it was the only reason Mairon got through winters these days. He nuzzled Melkor’s neck and wrapped his limbs around Melkor’s. As he did so, his muscles ached and protested in remembrance of last night’s thorough treatment. They had done no more decorating, but Mairon couldn’t be too mad about it, not with what he had gotten instead. Besides, he had something else in mind for today, another piece of Christmas tradition that reminded him - painfully perhaps - of his mother who had excelled at weaving evergreen branches into beautiful arrays, always a peaceful air about her. With that too came the memories of her tears at their parting, but Mairon was quick to wrestle out of the noose of anger. Perhaps this would finally be a Christmas rite Melkor could get behind. 

“Wake up, big boy,” Mairon murmured into Melkor’s ear and tugged on the lobe which had Melkor groan in protest and swat the hand away. “Come now.” 

“It’s the weekend,” Melkor said groggily and shoved Mairon off, only to crawl on top of him. His weight pressed Mairon into the mattress and even as he thought Melkor might ravish him again, the soft snores picked up once more. 

“Melkor.” Struggle as he might, Mairon had no choice but to wait for Melkor to surrender. 

Half an hour of trying to wake him up, a hastily shared shower and a breakfast of cinnamon and sugar pancakes later, Mairon and Melkor sat in the Porsche and drove towards a small village called Hobbiton, just out of town, where a local farmer’s market took place every Saturday. Mairon liked it for its fresh eggs and wild honey, the seasonal vegetables and varieties of fish, but today he hadn’t convinced Melkor to go there for any of these items. 

“What then?” Melkor asked, tapping the steering wheel into the not-quite silence of the highway. He had forbidden Mairon to put on any music lest he would have to bear more Christmas tunes, and Mairon - though ired by this - thought he’d save the best titles for another day when he could convince Melkor to calm down and just listen for once. 

“You will see.” 

The market had a small parking space which was mostly trampled earth and hay and though they were but forty-five minutes out of the city, the world had turned into a rural winter wonderland. Situated next to several crescent-roofed barns, the market stalls were small and old, covered in a dusting of snow. To one side, a forest sectioned the land off and to the fourth side was an open field completely covered in white.

Mairon smiled as he got out of the car and smelled roasted almonds and macrons, hot wine and cinnamon. Folk music hung in the air, its baseline skipping, suffused by a constant chatter with sellers advocating their wares and customers exchanging well-wishes and holiday sentiments even this early into the season.

Mairon grabbed Melkor’s arm and towed him along, by-passing his favorite cheese vendor and the livestock being sold, straight towards a small stall manned by a round-cheeked young man with orange-blond curls. The wooden construction was laden with evergreen wreaths of all sizes, decorated with colorful bows and glitter, cinnamon sticks and star anise, and small shiny baubles. Each was adorned with four candles. 

“Ta-da,” Mairon said with a grin and waited for Melkor to display an equal sort of glee, but Melkor merely frowned down at specimen. 

“Decorative circles?” he asked. “If you wanted to light a candle, we could have simply gone to Target and bought some. God knows, you have enough candle holders in those boxes.”

“Isn’t there anything you know about Christmas?” 

“I know it’s a load of nonsense and rubbish,” Melkor said, crossing his arms. 

“Oy,” the seller interjected, and his offense was almost adorable. He crossed his arms over his chest, about as feral as a toothless kitten. “I will have you know these are some of my finest work.” Mairon waved his comment away, then rounded on Melkor.

“You’re unbelievable, truly. These are advent wreaths. You buy them and on each advent Sunday you light one of the candles. The tradition is originally German, but my mother always used to cherish it. We’ve missed the first one, but we can always light two candles tomorrow. What do you think?” 

“If it makes you happy…”

“I had hoped it might make both of us happy,” Mairon said, his spirits dampened. If this was the way it was going to be all month long, he would come out of it frustrated and sad. But he was determined not to let that happen. Melkor would love Christmas, he had to. Mairon addressed the young man. “We will take that big one with the off-white candles, please. He pays.” He jerked a thumb at Melkor, then grabbed the wreath in question and carried it towards the car before Melkor could protest. Maybe this would trick the man into liking it. If he spent his money on it, it had to be good for something. Mairon clung to that as they drove home in silence.


	5. Sunday, December 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Warning for crude language.

The decorating still wasn’t done by Sunday, but Mairon had at least put the boxes to one side so the space was usable once more, the living room table not buried under piles of decorations and the dining area ready for meals to be eaten there. Nevertheless, Mairon hesitated to get out of bed, even after Melkor had gotten up to make coffee and watch whatever sport was on that moment. He felt lethargic and sluggish, weighed down by heaviness in his heart that had him stare at the ceiling, his arm thrown over his forehead, and sigh in intervals. 

Melkor was an ungrateful bastard. It was as simple as that. 

There had never been an intention to annoy or bother in Mairon’s plans. He had wanted to share the joys of his childhood he had retained with one who’d never gotten to experience them and now Melkor was downstairs, not caring in the slightest, and Mairon couldn’t even muster up the motivation to get up and light his candles.

“Stupid wreath,” he muttered and hated how shaky the words came out. “Stupid Christmas.” Mairon huffed and thought to simply leave the house or ask Thuringwethil if she wanted to hang out and get prematurely drunk on eggnog, but in that moment, the bedroom door opened and Melkor came in, carrying two steaming mugs. He climbed back into bed and offered one of them to Mairon.

“What is it?” Mairon asked. He contemplated staying put, but the smell of caffeine stirred his nerves and he sat up and took the proffered drink, careful to keep space between Melkor and himself. The drink was hot, invisible under a generous topping of whipped cream and crushed biscuit crumbles. It smelled suspiciously of gingerbread and when Mairon dared to take a sip, his chest warmed. 

“You were so happy about that coffee the other day, so I sought to replicate it. The thousand-dollar coffee maker has to be good for something.”

Mairon didn’t reply. He drank his coffee and it washed away most of his frustration. If Melkor had put in the effort and learned to make a Latte just to appease him, it meant he did care. Not about Christmas perhaps, but about Mairon. Still, he refused to give in. Melkor hadn’t even given the whole affair a chance. 

“Alright, you are upset with me,” Melkor sighed at last. “I am no Starbucks barista, but I did my best.”

“It’s not that, the coffee is amazing actually. Better than Starbucks…” 

“Then what is it?” Melkor gently pried the cup out of Mairon’s hands and put it down on the nightstand, then drew him onto his lap as easily as though he were a puppet. This was unacceptable. This was warm and loving and perfect and home. 

“…figure it out for yourself.” 

With that, Mairon grabbed his phone and perused Etsy for cute decorative pieces he could buy to spite Melkor, or to comfort himself or even to be annoyed by them and write long complaints to the owner. He snuggled backwards against Melkor and scrolled through endless listings of wreaths and garlands, personalized picture frames and knitted sweaters until he stumbled about a shop that sold Christmas decorations and useful items made from stainless steel. The owner’s user name was Feänor and though he looked grumpy in the picture, his items were just what Mairon needed. But before he could order copious amounts of tree-shaped cutlery, Melkor plucked the phone out of his hand too, and drew him closer. 

“Beloved,” he sighed and drew Mairon’s hair to one side in order to gain access to his neck which he kissed softly. “I’m not excitable like you and I have no fond memories of this season. Can you begrudge me my apathy?” 

“No, but I can begrudge you your unwillingness to try. Your lack of openness.” 

“I’m a simple man,” Melkor said. “I like things the way they are. Which includes you. This holiday mood, it’s strange to get used to. You seem very emotional, dare I say heartfelt, all of a sudden.” 

“Yeah, well, get used to it or leave me be,” Mairon snapped. He didn’t want to lash out like this, but he couldn’t help it. He did everything for Melkor all the way from starching his shirt to sucking his oversized cock. “…I only wanted us to create some holiday memories together. So you might get to like it.” 

Melkor contemplated this, nuzzling at Mairon’s neck. 

“Fine, I will try,” he said at last. 

“I sense a but.”

“But, you will have to accompany me to my brother’s Christmas party in return.” 

“I have no inclination to see your brother ever again,” Mairon said. He had met Manwe exactly once, and it had been a disaster he had tried to eradicate from his long-term memory. It had been an accidental encounter in the museum of all places and Mairon had only recognized him because he’d been in the company of Eönwe, an ex-boyfriend of Mairon’s who’d told Melkor’s brother all about him. Offhand-remarks had been made, then insults exchanged and before Mairon knew it, he’d been escorted by the security with a taser pressed between his shoulder blades. Good thing Melkor hadn’t been there or it would have ended in a straight-out blood bath. 

“Neither do I.”

“Then why are we going?”

“He’s blackmailing me with ugly childhood photos and such. Threatens to expose my humiliating goth phase so I lose my standing in the finance world.” 

“And what does he gain from you being there?”

“Recognition by association I suppose. Don’t ask me,” Melkor said and Mairon could feel his shrugs. “Do we have a deal?”

“Sure.” 

“Good. Then let us light those candles of yours.” 


	6. Sunday, December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

They lit the advent candles over a late breakfast, Mairon the first one and Melkor - after a small nudge with the matches - the second one. Mairon had begged Melkor for another mug of his coffee creation and the second one turned out even more delicious. In spite of his ignorance of hot drinks, Melkor somehow had an intuition for the perfect ratio of syrup, espresso and foam and just enough whipped cream on top that Mairon licked his lips yearning for more. But he couldn’t get too high on sugar and caffeine just yet. He had made a simple breakfast of grilled cheese with tomatoes for both of them and they ate cuddled up on the couch. The advent wreath sat proudly on the living room table between their legs and on the television, Melkor had put on an ice hockey game. Mairon didn’t care much for the sport, or any at that, so he finished his food and admired the wreath. It was beautifully crafted, not perhaps with as much skill as his mother had, but with a special eye for composition. Small clusters of pearls were interspersed with glass miniatures of snowflakes that speckled the evergreen twigs and the four cream-colored candles merged seamlessly into the structure. The two small flames burned steadily and the sight of them filled Mairon with a bone-deep happiness, a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt since, well. He couldn’t tell. Pressed up against Melkor in their own space was where he truly belonged. He glanced up at his fiancé who was licking the crumbs off his plate, transfixed by the game. Mairon snorted and stood, climbing up the steps to retrieve his phone. 

Back in the living room, he cuddled into Melkor’s side and Melkor made a content noise, put his arm around Mairon and was soon distracted once more. Thank god, Melkor wasn’t a loud sports fan. He never shouted or cursed. Occasionally, he gave a low grunt. That left Mairon plenty of space to tune out the sports game and open Feänor’s shop again. There was that cutlery again, in several options. The handles ended in Christmas trees, candy canes or even little gingerbread men. After scrolling through to page ten, Mairon found a set with normally-shaped handles, embellished with symbols. He clicked on the listing. Each piece, knife, fork, spoon, tea spoon had seven stars engraved into it and could only be ordered in sets of seven. The description read: in an homage to my boys I designed this set of cutlery. They can be annoying little terrors, but I love them dearly and sought to express it in this product. Each piece is hand-crafted with utmost care, made from… 

Disgusting, Mairon thought without reading further, truly. But he also found them pretty so he ordered two sets of seven for the dinner plans that were slowly forming in his mind for the 25th. From Feänor’s shop he also ordered napkin rings with the same design and a set of three cuff links that looked like small gem stones. Melkor would get them for Christmas and hopefully appreciate the asymmetry of them. On top of that, he ordered a bunch of different seasonal teas from a guy called Elrond whose receding hairline looked like this business was the only thing keeping him afloat. Mairon usually didn’t trust men like him, but the pomegranate one sounded like heaven and Mairon was always a sucker for a good cinnamon flavor. As Sunday ticked by, Mairon’s cart filled up and it was only when the game was over and Melkor spoke up, that he placed the orders.

“So,” Melkor said. He reached for the remote to turn off the television. “What’s next?”

“What do you mean?” Mairon finalized the payment, then put his phone aside. Although nearly two hours had passed, the candles still looked relatively untouched which Mairon appreciated. He leaned forward and blew them out nonetheless, determined to have them burn over dinner as well.

“What’s next on your Christmas list?”

“Oh… well, I was going to tell you about St. Nicholas,” Mairon said, raising his head to kiss Melkor’s cheek. “But I thought we could go back upstairs for a bit.”

“Hmm,” Melkor hummed and he was reached for Mairon in the same moment that Mairon clambered on top of him. They met in a heated kiss, Mairon’s lips parted under the assault of Melkor’s tongue. Forgotten were the woes of the morning, melted away in the heat of their bodies rubbing against each other. Melkor’s big hands snaked under Mairon’s shirt, then discarded it and soon enough they were entangled, kissing and clawing at each other.

They never made it upstairs, instead thoroughly misusing their leather couch which squeaked and rattled under their lovemaking. After, they lay together, Mairon on Melkor’s chest and Melkor twirling a lock of Mairon’s pale hair between his fingers. 

“So who is this Nicholas guy anyway?” Melkor asked. 

“He’s a legend of sorts. It is said that if you put your boots out by your front door on the night of the fifth to the sixth of December, he will come and put something in it like nuts and mandarins, chocolate and even small presents.”

“But he isn’t real,” Melkor said, dubious.

“Who knows.” Mairon gave a wistful shrug and kissed Melkor’s frown away. “Let’s put our shoes out and see.” 


	7. Tuesday, December 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of little cameos in this one, hope you enjoy :D

All Monday long, as Melkor had glowered at Mairon before and after work over the small St. Nicholas present he had gotten him -an array of candy canes and walnuts, marzipan balls and salted caramel chocolate, not a one of which Melkor truly liked - the snow had melted, but Tuesday morning brought with it another drop in temperature by several degrees and a fresh coat of white that suited what Mairon had in mind perfectly.

“I need you to pick me up after work again,” he said as he tied his shoes, then straightened only to scoff at Melkor whose tie was wonky and whose lines had deepened. Likely, he had spent all night up scheming whose money to legally steal next and it was showing. “You should drink less coffee and sleep more, love.”

“Says you.” 

Mairon fixed the tie and smoothed out the wrinkles with his fingers before stealing a lingering kiss from Melkor. Then, his uber was there and Mairon went to work, barely able to keep from grinning manically. 

They both got off early that day, something Melkor was only too happy about, but that made Mairon feel as though he had caught a stomach bug. Queasy and nauseous. He had no idea why Gothmog had sent him home around lunch time and couldn’t interpret the angry spark in his narrowed eyes. The only comfort was that Thuringwethil and the guys from customer acquisition too had been sent home, so it didn’t have to be a personal affront or a lackluster outcome on Mairon’s side. Melkor dropped by soon after Mairon had bidden Thuringwethil a good day and had prevented his dull colleague Azog from storming back inside as he had forgotten his wife’s tupperware in the break room. Gothmog would likely explode on him and though Azog didn’t make for very stimulating company, his work was valuable. 

“Just take it home tomorrow,” Mairon had shrugged and for good measure, he had given the man one of the candy canes that had been left over from the St. Nicholas affair. Azog had stomped off, munching on it, spilling tiny shards of red sugar in his wake. 

“What was that all about?” Melkor asked as Mairon slid in. A few snowflakes had tangled in his hair and landed on his glowing cheeks and Melkor bent over the console to kiss the moisture off his cheeks. Mairon rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation, but his heart fluttered. This was going to be their best escapade yet. 

“Just Azog being Azog.”

“His poor wife,” Melkor muttered and they both laughed before Melkor punched the address Mairon had sent him into the navigational system. Mairon leaned back and didn’t even mind the screeching guitars and discordant growls of Melkor’s favorite death metal band. 

The destination Mairon had chosen for this lesson in Christmas essentials lay on the outskirts of town. Not to the East as Hobbiton had, but more westward, where the forests grew taller and wilder, and civilization was sparse - save for an old fishing village that tarried in catching up to modern standards and a settlement of people in one of the biggest forests around. The Greenwood, a mystical patch of gnarled trees and wild creatures housed not only these - Mairon had no better word for them - hippies, it was also home to the largest elk and reindeer farm in the country.

“Why reindeer?” Melkor asked as they climbed out of the car. There were only two other cars in the lot, a rickety old seven-seater Volkswagen and an even more wretched Ford that looked as though it had been passed down five generations at least. In the front seat of that car, two teenagers were kissing the living day lights out of each other, one scruffy looking dark-haired boy and another person with long braided hair in a gleaming blond. Mairon could not tell whether it was a girl or a boy, but the way they slobbered all over each other made him recoil.

“That’s just vile,” Mairon muttered and pulled Melkor along. 

“You were probably like that once,” Melkor said. 

“Nope, I was always very proper as a teenager. Anyway, come along. Reindeer are the animals that pull the sleigh of Santa Claus, so they have a special significance.” They trudged towards the entrance of the farm where the first tall trees knitted together to form an arch. A sign asked them to leave food and dogs behind and as they had neither - though Mairon desperately wanted a puppy, but Melkor was still contemplating that - they made their way down a frozen over forest path, into the heart of the Greenwood.

They passed a family who was on their way out, a father with three kids and by the state of their clothing, Mairon sorted them into the Volkswagen, but other than that, the place was deserted. Suited Mairon fine. To add to that, the reindeer weren’t at all shy. They came up to Mairon and Melkor with curious glances, their antlers high and proud even though they looked more fluffy and sweet than their antlered kin. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” someone drawled and Mairon looked to the side. A tall man had emerged from the trees, wearing a long coat of velvety Bordeaux coloring. His hair had the same bright tone as that of the teenager in the car, and by his posture, Mairon concluded that he had to be the owner of the farm. “Thranduil Oropherion. Might I interest you in a few facts about my beloved charges over a cup of fine wine?” 

“We’d rather not,” Melkor said, eying the man with narrowed lids.

“Fine with me,” Thranduil replied. His voice was pleasant and low, but his expression pinched and as he strutted off again, Mairon had the distinct feeling, he wasn’t too happy to be put off as such. It was nothing to him though, and so he pulled out his wallet and walked over to one of the subtly disguised vending machines where he bought a packet of fodder for the reindeer. He was here to watch animals not to listen to some hobgoblin prattle on about them.

“We should buy this place,” Melkor said at some point, keeping to the sidelines as Mairon fed one of the smaller animals. His palm tickled where it licked at it and he only had half a thought left to spare for Melkor’s comment.

“Hmm?”

“I said we should buy this place. It’s pretty and I don’t like the owner. We should buy it and replace him.” 

Mairon crouched lower to let the reindeer nuzzle at his face, then recoiled when it started to lick at and nibble on his cheeks. 

“We are not buying a reindeer farm, love,” he said, returning to Melkor’s side. Then he caught a glimpse of Thranduil Oropherion in his flamboyant dress, parading around the enclosures as though he owned the whole world, not just a few acres of forest. “On second thought…”


	8. Wednesday, December 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Warning for sliiiight mention of gore.

“I’m tired of the living room looking like we only just moved in and I’m tired of you running into my collection of decorations like a drunk man,” Mairon said when Melkor had just done that, distracted by a work e-mail no doubt. They had never set up rules about taking work home and sometimes Melkor did spurts of it at night when he’d recuperated from dealing with fools all day, but this did not chime with their cluttered living room at all. Melkor grunted and rubbed his knee which had collided with a stack of the cardboard boxes, but he kept his gaze fixed to the screen and walked along to join Mairon in their kitchen which was separated from the living room by a tall aisle with a marble counter top. This, Melkor used to prop himself up on, back in a painful curve as he tapped away on his screen. Mairon sighed and returned to slicing vegetables for the beef stew recipe he had found crammed in among his snow globes. It had born his mother’s handwriting, something that had triggered too many of Mairon’s micro-aggressions towards his family, so he had copied it over his lunch break. His neater - and he thought much improved version, Yavanna’s tendency for mild spices had always irked him - hung pinned to the fridge and would turn out delicious, no doubt. 

“I said,” he spoke up over the hiss of the onions in the pan. “That I’m tired-”

“I heard you,” Melkor cut in.

“So?”

“So do something about it.” 

“As you may have noticed, I am currently engaged with dinner,” Mairon pressed through his teeth and made sure to exaggerate the chopping noises. His knife went through the carrots with brute force and the resounding noises had Melkor finally look up from his phone. He glanced over his shoulder at the boxes, at the half-finished nativity display on the sideboard, at the ripped bits of holly and fairy lights that still remained from the decorating disaster. 

“I can drop by IKEA after work tomorrow, they’ll have something similar I expect.”

“There is no need as I have changed my mind. I own plenty replacements and alternatives.” With the knife still clutched in his hand, Mairon pointed at the bottommost of a stack of four boxes closest to them. “You don’t even need to think, just do as I tell you.”

“I have to write this e-mail first.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“What do you know about it?” Melkor snapped, and marched back to the living room where he dropped onto the couch, the phone even closer to his face. The tap-tap of his thumbs was hasty, stumbling. No answer was given to that and Mairon didn’t allow himself to spiral into the fury that tinged the edges of his vision red. It wasn’t like them to fight this much. But then again, it wasn’t like Mairon to make so many demands either. He let out his frustration on several bell peppers and the chunks of beef he had procured from his favorite butcher, Finrod Felagund. Mairon liked him for his crude, old-fashioned methods and once, the man had told him, he had slain and disassembled a bull with his bare hands. A good bit of craft, that. 

When the ingredients were cooking on low, Mairon scoured the fridge for a bottle of his favorite red wine. He had stocked up on it last week, but Melkor wasn’t to be trusted in this regard. Except this time, he was and Mairon found the bottle, unopened and cool to the touch. He poured himself a glass, leaning against the counter as he sipped the fruity liquid and stirred his stew. He pointedly did not look at Melkor. Halfway through Mairon’s second glass, his fiancé heaved himself up and back towards the kitchen.

“Alright,” he said. “What needs to go where?”

Mairon arched a brow and emptied his glass, refilled it. 

“Don’t be like this, Mairon… fine, I shall start on the handrail then, why don’t I.” After pouring himself a glass, Melkor gave Mairon a dry peck on the cheek which softened Mairon and he made to prepare a salad as Melkor cleared away the wreckage of last week’s attempt, then pulled out the box with the replacement decorations. They both worked in silence and when the wine had spread through Mairon’s body, burning through his irritation, the tension of the day, he finally trusted his voice not to shake with resentment any longer.

“I love you,” he said, and Melkor stopped moving where he stood on a chair, in the middle of attaching a ring-shaped piece to the window that glowed faintly with orange light when plugged in. “You are difficult, but I love you.”

“ _I_ am difficult?” 

“A tad.”

“God, I can’t believe I asked you to marry me,” Melkor grunted and went back to his task. 

“Because you love me too.”

“It pains me, but yes, I do. So very much.” 

That was enough for Mairon. He finished up dinner preparations and after a fantastic stew and after killing another bottle of the wine, he and Melkor put the rest of the decorations into place as well as embellishing the upstairs. By the end of the day, all boxes were cleared away and their house was the most festive a place Mairon had ever lived in. And if he hadn’t been in the mood for Christmas before, this surely would have triggered it. 


	9. Thursday, December 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less Christmas and a little more drama and cameos in this one! Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> On a side note: thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting so far! I don't always manage to reply in a timely fashion, but I read and appreciate every last one of them, they make this so much more fun :3

_Melkor: Have to pop out of town for a spontaneous meeting, won’t make it home ‘til late._

Mairon stared at his phone screen for a good five minutes before Thuringwethil’s discreet cough tore him out of his trance.

“What?” he bit out and glowered at her, which didn’t impress her much. She wore no eyeliner today and her hair was… well. Definitely a lot shorter than it had been yesterday as well as streaked through with shocking white. “What happened to your hair?” He almost added ‘or to the rest of you?’, but was quick to bite down on his tongue. She didn’t wear her usual smart attire of a dark suit and a burgundy shirt. No sparkling white earrings and no diamond on her finger which could mean a number of things. Instead, she was dressed in a mouse-gray shirt and a beige-brown combination of grandpa cardigan and faded slacks. Mairon sincerely hoped that Gothmog hadn’t seen her. The dress code in Angband was neither strict nor spoken, but it existed and it pertained to dark color schemes and neat clothing. Not… whatever this was.

“None of your business, asshole.”

“Why so vexed?”

“You keep staring at your phone, it’s distracting me. What is it with you at the moment, you’re so focused usually and now you keep humming stupid songs and getting side-tracked by texts. It’s annoying,” Thuringwethil said, venom drenching her words and Mairon knew better than to be intimidated by her. She had her moments, both agreeable and less so and god knew she had listened to enough of his whining and complaining over the years of their friendship. Mairon put aside his phone and popped out of the office to get both of them a fresh cup of coffee before sitting on her desk. This only heightened her huffing and sighing, as though she were the Polar Express, but Mairon shoved the drink at her - black and bitter, the same as Melkor - and she took it, gnawing on her glossily crimson bottom lip. 

“Alright, sweetie, spit it out.” Mairon crossed his legs. As a matter of fact, he did itch to get back to work and Melkor’s text wasn’t so much a downer as it was convenient, but he had to play his part in this relationship too. If he did not, at the very least, she would make his life hell. And he did love her.

“What do you mean?” 

“You look like you were abducted by aliens, aged ten years in the process and then blindly grabbed items of clothing from a second-hand shop before you stumbled to work.”

Mairon expected her to retort with something equally harsh and insulting, but instead she dissolved into tears on the spot which had him blink. That wasn’t what he had aimed for. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… Shit,” he cursed and scoured around for tissues. The only ones he had at hand sat on his desk, a special design decorated with snowflakes, a gift that had come with his order from Feänor. Wordlessly, Mairon handed her one and took the coffee aside, but Thuringwethil clung to it, and pushed the tissue away.

“I’m fine,” she sniffed. 

“Clearly… out with it, dear, or I’m not going to be able to focus on work again and then we’ll both be annoyed at me.”

“I hate you.” Thuringwethil took a gulp of coffee and then, staring at her bitten down fingernails, another oddity, she explained her woes. “I’ve been dating Shelly on and off for half a year now and in the last month or so I thought we were getting pretty serious. I was going to ask her to spend Christmas Eve together, but then yesterday I saw her and Lurtz at that bar Meduseld, shit-faced and making out and I just. I just liked her so much.”

“Shelob from reception?” Mairon asked, eyes widening. He appreciated that woman because she was nasty and aggressive, rarely sugar-coated anything and the sole reason they didn’t even need security in the house. No one who wasn’t wanted in Angband got past her. Which was fine, but Mairon would never in a million years think to date her. Nor to advise anyone else to do so. She was a right bitch, that one, and though he tried to refrain from gossip and rumor-spreading, he had heard at least a dozen of the guys from their law department boast having fucked her. 

“The one,” Thuringwethil said. 

“That’s… about what I would have expected from her.”

“Mairon!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but honestly. You must have heard of her reputation. You know what she’s like.”

“Of course I do… but I thought it might be different. I might be different… it just sucks so much.” 

Mairon shrugged and patted her head which was sticky with something he didn’t care to identify. 

“How about some compensatory shopping?” he suggested then. There were no words of comfort, at least not from him, and he knew only one way to fix her broken heart. Retail therapy and holiday spirit galore. “We could go after work, have some overly expensive sushi and then spend too much money. My treat.”

Thuringwethil glanced up at him withtear-brimming eyes that were streaked through with red. She looked pathetic and sad and Mairon wanted her to stop it. He was no good at this. 

“What,” she mumbled. “So I can watch you fawn over what to get your jock boyfriend for Christmas? No thank you.” 

“Fiancé, if you please, though this isn’t about Melkor. I can buy him gifts some other time.” Which was a bit of a lie as Mairon had wanted to do exactly that. The cuff links were beautifully crafted and Melkor would love them, but they weren’t nearly enough. If only Mairon had an idea of what else to get him. He had hoped the shops would inspire, but with an emotionally crushed Thuringwethil in tow, he might just have to spend the day commenting on articles of lingerie he had no clue about and stopping her from raging at clerks. Although the latter one would be too much fun to pass up.

“If you insist,” she said at last and Mairon rolled his eyes. “Now get back to work.” Mairon gladly did.


	10. Friday, December 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scheming Mairon is the best Mairon <3 hope you enjoy!

The first low, prancing notes of Jingle Bell Rock filled the kitchen as Mairon caught Melkor rummaging through one of the cabinets they had reserved especially for candy and chips, chocolate and anything heart-attack-inducing that functioned as a snack. Mairon was a bit of a sweet tooth and Melkor could inhale a package of cheese-flavored nachos within five minutes. They both loved a good cookie. Which was exactly why Mairon laughed silently to himself as Melkor extended his arm deep into the cabinet. He would find nothing, not a single gummy bear, no dusting of salt from pretzels, nothing. Mairon had taken all their remaining sweets and snacks to work that morning and had given them to a Thuringwethil who had - though still bursting into tears and angry fits ever so often - regained her eye for style. She had accepted them without gratitude, but after devouring two bars of white chocolate and Melkor’s favorite salt and vinegar chips, she had seemed just a tad happier. For that alone, the mission had been worth it, but that wasn’t where Mairon’s ambitions culminated.

He had also stocked up on baking ingredients for various of his favorite Christmas recipes. Courtesy of Pinterest, the local library and the collection of recipes written by his grandmother which he had stolen on the day he’d moved out. It wasn’t unlikely that his mother was still searching for them. If Melkor but popped upon another cabinet, he would find packets of flour and sugar, raspberry jam and various nuts in various states of pulverization, cinnamon and vanilla pods. The fridge overflowed with eggs and milk, butter and fresh oranges. Mairon hid his smirk in his coffee.

The whole scheme stood and fell with Melkor’s hunger for snacks and Mairon did not like the variability of that factor. The likelihood of it being intense was increased by the fact that they usually watched a movie on Friday night and that towards the end of the week, Melkor often displayed burnout tendencies. That paired with the late night he had yesterday and an early morning today almost guaranteed surety. 

“How are we out of snacks again?” Melkor groaned and after sticking his head into the empty cabinet as well, just to be a hundred percent sure, he regarded Mairon with narrowed eyes. His sugar deprivation read in the twitch of his eye, his lust for salt in the whiteness of his knuckles where he gripped the counter top. Mairon shrugged.

“Thuringwethil was a bit heartbroken, so I brought the rest of it to work today."

“That reminds me,” Melkor replied grumpily. He slammed the cabinet shut and walked over to Mairon, placing one hand on the wall besides his face. Like this, he towered over Mairon and bent low to nibble on his jaw. “I met your boss at the gym today.”

“Stop that, _I’m_ not a snack.” 

“Mmh, I disagree.” Melkor stepped closer, his thigh slotting in between Mairon’s and he let his lips graze Mairon’s temple. A feeble attempt to get him to go shopping no doubt. 

“Gothmog?” Mairon said, instead of commenting on the snack situation. “How was it?”

“Well, he’s gaining rapidly, but I still out-lift him by about 40 lbs so no worries.”

“That’s my man,” Mairon giggled. He allowed Melkor to capture his lips and he put his cup down on top of the stove before he wrapped his arms around Melkor’s neck. He had to stand on his tip-toes to fully reach around his fiancé. They kissed for a long moment, and just when Melkor thought he had Mairon, he drew back, a sly smile on his lips. Oh, but Mairon had him all figured out. 

“I really want some snacks.”

“I’m already in my comfortable clothes, I’m not going out again,” Mairon replied. This killed the romantic mood, but that wasn’t what Mairon was going for anyway.

“Well then I’m driving to the store. Shouldn’t take too long, you can pick out a movie in the meantime.”

And here was the pivot point of Mairon’s plan. The car. He had wrecked his brain trying to eliminate it without applying actual harm, but there was no way. There was no way he could hide the key form Melkor or convince him not to use it. No draining the fuel, no making it snow so hard it wouldn’t budge. Alas, sometimes sacrifices were in order and this one had involved a freshly-sharpened kitchen knife and a mission of stealth as Melkor had taken his post-work shower. 

“I already called the garage about that flat tire, they said it would take them a day.”

“What flat tire?” Melkor asked, blinking. 

“Didn’t you see? You must have caught it on something on the way home, flat as our door mat, there is no way you are driving.” 

Even if they had a spare tire in their trunk or garage, neither of them would be able to change it too. 

“…I just want something to eat.” 

“Yeah, that sucks… you know I have just bought baking ingredients… we could always make some snacks ourselves.” Mairon smiled sweetly, careful to keep the triumph out of his voice. He was so close to victory he could taste it as cinnamon stars melting on his tongue. Don’t squeal, he told himself, don’t give it away.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you contrived this situation just to get me to bake with you.” 

“Darling,” Mairon purred and pecked Melkor’s cheek. It was as good a signal word as any. He retrieved his notebook from his bag in the living room and opened it on the recipe pages. “There are much simpler ways to get you to bake with me.” Lie. “And I would never resort to such drastic measures as popping a tire on our car, I know how much you love and rely on it.” Lie. “Besides, I had hoped that you like to bake with me.” Well. Maybe not a lie at its core, but enough of a stretch that Mairon considered it as such.

To his surprise, Melkor laughed and walked up to him, snaking one arm around Mairon’s waist. He kissed his temple once more, than bent over 

“Forgive me, beloved, I am exhausted and hungry, of course you wouldn’t go this far.”

Mairon grinned. Hook, line and sinker. 

“How about these,” he asked, pointing at an entry he had copied from some the blog of a vaguely familiar single dad who had claimed his girls went batshit crazy over these cookies, even stealing them from their brother so he always had to bake extra. They were a hazelnut variation on peanut-butter cookies and Mairon’s mouth watered just thinking about them.

“Sounds perfect. What should I do?” 


	11. Friday, December 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the cookie baking shenanigangs, big WARNING for sexual content. Nothing tooo drawn-out or explicit, but sexual content nonetheless. If you are uncomfortable with that just skip this chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

They made it to two trays of wonky hazelnut and crescent-shaped vanilla cookies covered in powdered sugar before Mairon decidedly turned off the oven and walked over to where Melkor was scraping leftover bits of dough out of the bowl to lick at. Mairon caught his hand mid-way to his mouth and pulled it towards him, tongue darting out to catch the sticky substance off Melkor’s fingers. Melkor’s face shuffled through a range of expression, starting at offense at the theft and ending up at a hooded gaze of want, a curl of his lip into something devious and hungry that had Mairon grin. 

They’d had enough sugar and somewhere in the domesticity of the situation, the warmth of the kitchen due to the consistent heat emanating from the oven and Melkor’s complacency, dare Mairon even say joy, with baking, Mairon’s want for sugar had turned into an entirely different sort of ache. One that persistently manifested in his crotch, hard and pulsing. He pressed his body against Melkor’s so that his fiancé would feel his want and was met with equally solid evidence on Melkor’s part, though larger. With a scoop of his arms, Melkor had Mairon on the counter top, both legs around his hips and grabbed his hair roughly to pull back his head. The ensuing kiss was more a clash of their faces, imprecise and needy. Melkor sucked on Mairon’s bottom lip until it felt raw and Mairon gasped, hands roaming up and down Melkor’s muscular torso until he forced the kiss to soften and slow and their tongues found one another under sloppy moans. Melkor tasted of molten butter and sugar, of coffee and vanilla and Mairon couldn’t get enough of it. 

Heat gathered in his gut as Melkor untied the aprons they had used to protect their clothes, first Mairon’s, then his own and let them drop to the ground. Melkor’s mouth wandered along Mairon’s jaw, caught his ear, down his neck, but Mairon moaned impatiently and pulled his face back up, gasped when Melkor grabbed him by the neck and tilted his head back, their lips slotting together in a deep kiss that had Mairon suffocating with want. Clawing at Melkor’s belt was all he could do to hold himself steady and take the delicious abuse of his own lips. Melkor let up at last and they both stared at each other, wide-eyed and panting. 

“You think you can wait a little longer for your snacks?” Mairon rasped and cleared his throat. He unhooked his thumbs and rapidly popped open the buttons of Melkor’s black shirt. It fell open to reveal a broad chest, defined abs and a thick foot-long scar that hugged his left collarbone as thought it was an extension of it. Mairon snaked his arms back around Melkor’s neck and began to trace it with kisses that lingered and sucked. 

“I can manage,” Melkor replied hoarsely. 

“Well, I don’t think I can.” Mairon gently nudged Melkor backward with his knees and slid off the counter. 

“Mairon.”

His name, a tremor rolling off Melkor’s lips, a low plea as well as a veiled command, was all the encouragement Mairon would have needed, had he lacked sufficient hunger before. Licking his lips, Mairon trailed his fingers downward towards the bulge that had formed in Melkor’s crotch. One, two, three moves of his fingers and Melkor’s arousal sprung free, already eager and exuding heat and Mairon sunk to his knees on the spot. 

It was almost muscle memory and yet no two instances of pleasuring Melkor were ever alike. Mairon loved it as much as he loved Melkor taking him, touching him. He braced himself on Melkor’s thigh with one hand and peered up at his fiancé whose eyes were hooded. They met Mairon’s and a new spark of desire shot through Mairon, more intense than any seasonal joy or sugar high could ever be. This would never change, the gravity of what he felt for Melkor, this would always make up how he defined himself, had ever since the day Melkor had waltzed into Angband with a glare to intimidate even Shelob into letting him in and a business proposal Gothmog hadn’t been able to pass up. Mairon had barged into the meeting, unaware that it had been going on. Melkor had worn a grim, determined expression, but when he’d spotted Mairon and Mairon him, it had lifted somewhat. Into recognition. They had recognized each other as kindred spirits instantly and after a series of casual sex dates, Mairon had bullied Melkor into admitting that they were perfect for each other. And that had been that. 

Mairon’s fingers curled around Melkor as he licked a line along his shaft, let his tongue flick over the tip of it. The groan this elicited had the hairs on Mairon’s arms stand up. He had planned to take his time, lap at Melkor’s throbbing hardness, savor the feeling of him against his lips, but Melkor was impatient and brunt and he wordlessly framed Mairon’s face with his huge hands and guided his mouth onto his length. Mairon’s breath puffed out around the mass of it and though he was used to Melkor’s girth, his jaw ached nonetheless. Obediently, he applied his tongue as Melkor eased into a rhythm that was almost loving, caring as he pushed into Mairon’s mouth and Mairon moaned and hummed with it, suffusing Melkor’s grunts. It took forever and no time at all, it was delicious and slow and hot and fast and Mairon’s bones sang with the pleasure of it. 

He did love baking and Christmas and festivity and joy. But he loved this so much more. 


	12. Sunday, December 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I totally forgot to post this this morning, I'm so sorry!  
> Hope you enjoy anyway! :)

When Mairon padded down the stairs on Sunday in his running clothes so as not to wake Melkor, he recapitulated the last week or so. Ever since Melkor had promised to try harder to enjoy Christmas, Mairon’s spirits had been on a steady upward slope. The house was finally decorated, they had spent yesterday baking the remainder of their cookies so that their cabinets were stock-full and Mairon would have enough to give away if he felt like it - mostly he wouldn’t, he enjoyed sugar-induced coma too much to share it and Melkor’s stomach was basically a black hole - and Melkor planned to call up the reindeer farm tomorrow to make Thranduil Oropherion an offer he would never be able to pass up. If he wanted to, they would keep him running the place, but it would be theirs. Even Thuringwethil was feeling much better. She had sent him a picture yesterday of her and Shelob at the ice rink, all bundled up and adorable together. Hopefully, Shelob wouldn’t sidestep again. 

“What next,” Mairon muttered as he grabbed a key and pulled on his running shoes. His belly felt swollen from all the food and a good run would be perfect to counteract that. It was a Christmas side effect, the few pounds he would gain, but nothing he couldn’t lose again come New Year. With his Airpods blasting on full volume and his hair tied back into a low bun, Mairon slipped out of the house and immediately fell into a light jog to warm up his muscles which were stiff from a whole day spent on the couch. The sun had not yet risen and yet the frost twinkled in the remaining moonlight on leaves cleared of the snow that hadn’t survived a moderate, almost warm Saturday. It was the perfect kind of atmosphere for Mairon to jog out his kinks and shuffle through his remaining ideas. His leather notebook contained a two page list of what they could do, but he hadn’t put dates on any of them in consideration of how unpredictable Melkor could be. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to cross of every item at this rate. While Mairon planned his days to the minute in usual months, he wanted his intuition to take over on this one. Simply do what he felt most like, what a concept. He grinned to himself and breathed on his fingers. They were cold and he cursed how he hadn’t taken any gloves. 

As Mairon entered a nearby park, he considered simply taking Melkor to the ice rink himself. It was new in town, a place by the name of Helcaraxe, and it’s reviews were astounding. Mairon definitely wanted to go some time, but the place would be bursting on a Sunday and skating was no fun when the ice was speckled with incompetent children and screeching adults who lacked spatial orientation as well as patience with themselves and others. Both he and Melkor would be tempted to simply run them over and that would lead to no good. No, not the ice rink. 

And then it hit him. He had just completed the second lap around the park, on his way home-bound when the idea struck. Back in his childhood, they had only done this while him and his brothers weren’t yet in middle school. By then, Curumo had protested so thoroughly that it had been more torture than fun and eventually, their parents had given up. Mairon smirked. Melkor would be repulsed, but no matter. 

Melkor still in bed when Mairon stepped out of the bathroom in a puff of vanilla-scented steam, drying his hair. 

“What are you doing?” Mairon asked. He threw the towel aside and rummaged in their walk-in closet for the appropriate attire. 

“Facebook,” Melkor grunted without looking up. 

“You know I had an idea about what we could do today…”

“Hmm.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

“Are you listening, love?” Mairon poked his head out of the closet. Melkor was engrossed by whatever was happening on the screen of his iPad, his reading glasses perched precariously close to the tip of his nose. Mairon thought they were rather unsexy, but Melkor despised contacts and his eyesight up close was nothing to brag about. “…Melkor?” 

“Hm?” Melkor looked up for a blink and Mairon took that opportunity to throw the Santa hat he had clutched in his hands at his fiancé. “What the fuck?” 

“Get your ass out of bed, we’re doing photographs today,” Mairon said and slid back into the closet. He had a whole Santa Claus attire which Melkor might burst, but if he cut it down the front, it would be like a pin-up Santa. The thought alone made Mairon giddy. For himself, he got out an old fur coat he hadn’t worn since 2012, his personal year of the color brown, and a headband with glittery reindeer ears. He planned to wear only those two items in complete disregard of the people who would receive the Christmas cards with the photos attached. Or, perhaps, to annoy them. 

“Mairon, what are you doing?” Melkor asked when he entered the closet five minutes later and found Mairon bent over a dresser, the Santa jacket spread out and his fabric scissors frantic at work. He had cut open the front of the thing, then realized Melkor’s biceps would burst the red velvet on the sleeves and had cut off those at well. The pants might not close, but there was no altering them on such short notice. Mairon shoved the whole outfit at Melkor, then dropped his towel and pulled on a pair of dark briefs, the coat and stuck the headband on top of his head. Melkor blinked at him, a mass of red fabric with white fur trim in his arms.

“Is that… is that supposed to be a reindeer costume?”

“Sexy reindeer,” Mairon said. “Now put on that outfit and come downstairs. These are going to be just great.”


	13. Monday, December 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less festive, the plot got away with me haha. Hope you enjoy :)

“…so after reading your assessment and talking to Azog who has worked with the Oakenshields for the better part of two years now, I have come to the conclusion to terminate our business arrangement with Erebor, sell the stocks we have and look to invest elsewhere in the precious metal industry,” Gothmog concluded, stroking his goatee. Mairon’s boss sat reclined in his high-backed leather chair, feet propped up on his blackened glass desk top, and addressed Mairon with a cheerful tone of voice. Mairon was not fooled. Upon entering Angband this morning, Smaug had pulled Mairon aside to whisper a few words of caution in Mairon’s ear. Smaug was one of their accountants who worked under Ancalagon, their chief financial officer, and he had been involved in the Erebor deal for even longer than Azog had. For a decade or so, their cooperation had been fruitful, but now that it was going downhill, everyone was on edge and annoyed. Gothmog most of all. The alternatives were lacking, the market jack full with sharks and nowhere to slip in. Terminating the business relationship meant yielding officially and, profit aside, Gothmog never liked to be the one to give in. 

“Sir,” Mairon said, nodding. “I wholeheartedly agree. I even have a few suggestions for investment options that may hold more of a future than the precious metal industry.”

“What do you mean more of a future?” 

“You know, the market is tight and the planet soon exhausted, why not focus on alternative resources?” 

Gothmog kept stroking his wispy beard, scanning Mairon through narrowed eyes. Mairon shrugged and folded his legs, hands entwined behind his own head. Gothmog couldn’t scare him, they had too much of a history. Mairon had spent most of his college weekends at Gothmog’s house, studying and scheming, had known his parents better than his own. Hell, Angband had been mostly his idea, but he hadn’t had the guts to go through with it by himself and Gothmog had soon taken the reins. Mairon didn’t mind so much, he preferred the practical work anyway. Something about the thought stuck with him though. 

“You’ve always had a sense for these things,” Gothmog muttered. “I’ll just tell Azog to schedule a meeting with you, you can figure out the rest from there.

“I will not let you down, sir.” Gothmog considered that, chewed on the statement before the tension melted from his tight features and he gave a barking laugh that trembled through his body. His biceps tensed and slackened, confined by a flaming red shirt that was pulled dangerously taut. Still no match for Melkor indeed. 

“You know what, I think it’s time I make you vice president of this firm. What do you say?”

Mairon bit down on his smirk. He could do without the title or the promotion, but some recognition had been long overdue and this would give him even more freedom. 

“I want a twenty percent pay raise for me and my assistant and we are getting Ancalagon’s office,” Mairon said without missing a beat.

“Your assistant?”

“Thuringwethil.” 

“Fine with me,” Gothmog said. He leaned forward and made a few notes on his notepad which was filled into the last margin with illegible scribbles. “Sent in the other Gothmog on your way out, will you? I have a word or two to say to his potato-shaped visage, namely that I don’t ever want to see it here again.”

“Yes, sir,” Mairon said. Today could only get better.

  
It was intuition, in the end, that drove Mairon into the study Melkor sometimes used as a home office once he got back to their house. Thuringwethil had been over the moon. Ancalagon had been less than amused. It had all worked out, but somehow, Mairon felt restless. He spent the uber ride back scrolling through the pictures they had taken yesterday. Pictures to use to write post cards with. Except, he had no clue who to write to. 

Sure, he had plenty of friends and business acquaintances, but none of them would appreciate a Christmas card with Melkor as sexy Santa and an antlered Mairon on his lap whose fur coat was slipping dangerously down his shoulder. Mairon saw his friends often enough to personally give them gifts and it would be unprofessional to send such photographs to business acquaintances. That left only one option, one he had sworn himself never to choose again. The thought tickled him. 

“Hello there,” Melkor said as he entered the study, an hour or so after Mairon had come home. Dodging books strewn over the floor and the odd dead plant, Melkor made his way to where Mairon was bent over his phone screen and a piece of creme-colored cardboard, and gave Mairon a kiss on top of his head. “What are you doing in here?”

“Thinking,” Mairon said. He was swiping furiously back and forth between the two pictures he had decided were the most provocative. In one, he was on the ground by Melkor’s feet, cheek pressed against Melkor’s knee, in the other, Mairon was kissing Melkor on the cheek. 

“What about?” Melkor gave a low grunt as he pulled up a second chair and sat down next to Mairon. 

“What picture to choose. Which one do you think is more scandalous?”

“Hmm… if scandalous means sexy then definitely the one with you on the ground. Looks like you’re my… well, I’m not going to say that out loud.” Melkor cleared his throat noisily.

“Thanks, love,” Mairon replied. If it hadn’t been for the intrusive thoughts, he would have found Melkor’s comment amusing.

“Who are you writing to?” Melkor pointed at the cardboard which had the date at the top right and nothing else as of now. 

“I thought to write to my family.” Saying it out loud made the whole affair even more bizarre, but Mairon rather liked the idea of his parents opening their Christmas post to find a horribly vulgar picture of their disowned son with his super-hot fiancé. In fact, he liked the idea a little too much.

“What, you’re going to send them that? I thought you hated them.”

“That is exactly why I’m doing it,” Mairon pronounced and picked up a pen. “Shall I address one to your brother as well?” 

“Absolutely not,” Melkor laughed. 


	14. Tuesday, December 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameos, jealousy, Christmas trees, this chapter has it all! Hope you enjoy :)

“This is finally something I know about,” Melkor said proudly as he and Mairon sped down the highway to yet another rural patch of land outside of town, a Christmas tree farm by the name of Fangorn, south of their hometown. They had to bypass the village of Lothlórien where a famous television fortune teller who called herself Galadriel lived. Mairon had met her once on the farmer’s market in Hobbiton and had gotten goosebumps just looking at her. She dressed all in white as did her stoner husband and they acted as though they thought they were vessels of some strange divinity. It was lucky they didn’t have to enter Lothlórien. Galadriel and Celeborn were not people Mairon ever wanted to meet in person again, a list that seemed to be ever-expanding. 

“Did you have a Christmas tree growing up?” Mairon asked, inspecting his hands. He had spent all day in a meeting room with Thuringwethil and Azog, bent over ledgers and proposals of potential investment opportunities and his fingers were stained with pen smudges. A small paper cut nestled against his pinky and he sucked on it impatiently. 

“Sort of,” Melkor said, taking the next exit towards Fangorn and the famous settling of Isengard that sat in its cradle against it. Its main attraction was Orthanc, an old church tower Mairon couldn’t care less for. “Father had a fake one which my brother and his girlfriend liked to decorate with twinkling silver stars and moon-shaped baubles. I hated that thing.”

“Well, we are going to get a real one and make it pretty,” Mairon said. He let his hand fall to Melkor’s that rested on the gear shift. “And then you can forget all about your stupid brother.”

“At least until Friday…” 

Ah, yes, the long-dreaded party. Mairon wanted to retch just thinking about it, so he didn’t. They reached Fangorn at last, an endless expanse of evergreen trees in all shapes and sizes. Mairon and Melkor listened to the introduction by its owner, a tall and wiry man with a beard down to his navel in which tangles of moss and pine needles were caught, and took the axe the man offered them, then made their way into the depths. It was a self-service forest, so to speak. 

“This would be more glorious if we still had snow,” Mairon said, scowling at the squelching noises his shoes made on the muddy forest floor. There were distinct pathways, all soaked through and slippery, and he should have worn his Wellington boots, but it was too late now. At least this way, the rich scent of pine and bark filled the air and Mairon breathed it in. 

“Would also be much colder. What size are we going for?”

“I thought we’d just walk around for a bit, then see which one strikes our fancy.” It couldn’t be too tall of a tree, nor too wide. Their living room was big enough, but Mairon wanted the tree to be decorative, not to dominate their space and become a nuisance. They followed the path where it took a slant to the left and heard voices drift down it. They couldn’t be the only customers, of course, but something about the smooth baritone gave Mairon goosebumps. He only realized why that was when it was already too late. 

“I want that tree,” Melkor said and pointed at a tree about Mairon’s height. It was full at the bottom with branches so thick one could hardly see the stem and thinner up top with a few twigs sticking out at the very tip. It was a nice enough tree, and also clearly the one the other couple had chosen. One of them was tall and proud, pinching the dark green needles between his slender fingers which were scarred from his hobby craftsmanship. The other man was stubby and low, sported an intricately braided beard and had a voice like a bomb going off. He wielded his axe like a weapon rather than a tool and laughed like an avalanche.

“Oh fuck no,” Mairon muttered. He tugged on Melkor’s sleeve, urging him backward, but it was already too late. The tall man had glanced up and spotted them. His serene smile faded into twisted agony. 

“Annatar,” he said. 

“Hi there.” Mairon gave a small wave. 

“Annatar?” Melkor parroted, glancing between the two. He had no idea what was happening and Mairon meant to keep it that way.

“Celebrimbor, fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, uh, Narvi and I were just picking out a tree for our new flat,” Celebrimbor replied, visibly uncomfortable. Their history was simple: they had met on a business conference and had spent the weekend together. From their first meeting, Mairon had understood that Celebrimbor would develop feelings for him and had thus crafted a fake identity to keep him off his back. He had been a good occasional lay, but never more than that and Mairon had ended things by ghosting him. Until now. “Narvi’s my boyfriend,” came the belated, blurted reply.

“That’s great, I’m so happy for you! Come now, love, we can find another tree,” Mairon said, tugging on Melkor’s sleeve again. It wasn’t like he was afraid of Celebrimbor nor of his dwarf of a boyfriend, but he didn’t want Melkor to find out that they had been lovers only months before Mairon had met him. Melkor was prone to jealous fits if a reason presented itself and this was too much of one. The crimson in Celebrimbor’s cheeks that couldn’t all be the weather, the low growl caught in his companion’s throat that told Mairon he knew exactly what was going on. It was a recipe for disaster.

“I want this tree,” Melkor growled. So did Narvi. They edged closer to one another, glowering, and soon someone would get hurt with one of the axes that gleamed dangerously over their shoulders. Mairon wanted to smack himself. Then Celebrimbor gave him a wonky smile and half a shrug and he wanted to smack Celebrimbor. 

“We were here first,” Narvi said.

“So?”

“So, this is our tree.” 

“No, it is not. Just fuck off and get another one.” Melkor stepped even closer and he towered over Narvi by at least two heads. The smaller man didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, but Celebrimbor’s eyes widened as he searched Melkor’s face. Working in the same industry as Mairon, he might have heard of Melkor. Might know of his reputation. His eyes darted between Mairon and Melkor and he deflated with a soft sigh.

“Let them have the tree, Narvi. I think I have spotted a much prettier one back there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and Narvi grunted, spat on the ground, then surrendered the floor and the tree to Melkor who smirked victoriously. 

“Assholes,” Narvi said, then stomped away. 

“Merry Christmas, you guys,” Celebrimbor added, then followed his boyfriend. 

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Mairon said, watching Melkor fell the tree. He wasn’t so excited about it anymore.


	15. Wednesday, December 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More jealousy because why not :D Hope you enjoy!:)

Mairon pushed aside the encounter with Celebrimbor from his mind on the way home and by the next morning, it was as though it had never happened. The tree was set up nicely next to their couch in an old stand Mairon had unearthed in one of his boxes and Melkor kept looking at it with a quirk to his lips that Mairon liked to interpret as appreciation for it. In a few days or so, they would decorate it. It would be glorious, but until then, Mairon had a few other domains in which to educate Melkor in. 

“I think it is finally time for you to ascend to the next level of Christmas tradition,” Mairon said. They both sat at the dinner table, deep into their second cup of coffee, and halfway through a giant pan full of scrambled egg with onions and tomatoes as well as the last half a dozen pieces of toast they had left. Both of them had woken early thanks to a ruckus on the neighboring property. The police had appeared at four in the morning after someone had alerted them because the guy next door, a young veteran by name of Eomer, illegally kept his horse in the garage. There had been a lot of shouting on the human’s part, stampeding and neighing on the animal’s and neither Melkor nor Mairon had been able to go back to sleep so they had opted for an early breakfast together. Melkor had his nose buried in his screen, buried in work emails no doubt, but Mairon thought this randomly won patch of time was better applied to his mission.

“And what is that?” Melkor said, bits of egg dropping from his lips. Mairon reached across and wiped them off his chin with a thumb to which Melkor scowled, then returned to his reading. 

“Christmas songs.”

“Oh hell no.”

“Hell yes.” 

“I’ve heard a few…” 

“You barely let me play them on like two occasions and even then hardly listened. Don’t think I forgot about you complaining when I listened to ‘Let It Snow’ in the shower yesterday,” Mairon said. For good measure, he plucked the phone out of Melkor’s hands - ignored the ensuing protest - and connected the device to their smart home system, then pulled up Spotify. They shared an account so Mairon had easy access to his own Christmas playlist which he put on in the precise order he had arranged it to. 

“It is too early for this torture,” Melkor said and held onto his coffee. 

“Nonsense,” Mairon said, turning the volume up. “I merely want to introduce you to the classics. This is ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’, THE Christmas song. Have you heard it before?” The song filled the room which was lit only by virtue of their overhead lights and the ring in the window as well as the fairy lights on the railing. It was still a while tosunrise, but Mairon finally felt energy pump through his system. He even had a faint urge to dance.

“Of course I heard it before.”

“Great, that means you aren’t entirely hopeless.” 

“Can we skip to the next one?” 

“No, you must relish it, it’s a fun song!”

“…fine,” Melkor groaned. “Can I at least have my phone back?”

“Nope.”

“Can I ask you a question then?” Melkor’s tone had turned lucid and demanding all of a sudden and Mairon didn’t like the sharp gleam in his eyes. An emissary of anger or arousal if past incidents were anything to go by, and something made Mairon think that Melkor wasn’t up for an early morning round of fun to the angelic voice of Mariah Carey. 

“Go ahead. You have two more minutes before the next song starts,” Mairon said. He picked at the remains of his food, but he wasn’t hungry now.

“How do you know Celebrimbor?”

“He’s an old acquaintance, we met at a conference some years back.”

“Really? Because he was looking at you rather intensely and seemed very intent to stress that Narvi was his boyfriend.”

“Maybe he wasn’t sure whether it was really me?”

“I’m not stupid, Mairon.”

“I never implied you were. Oh, listen! This is ‘Feliz Navidad’, a Spanish song, timeless, energetic, beautiful,” Mairon said. Heat raked over his limbs at Melkor’s penetrating gaze, and not the good kind. Melkor made a grab for the phone and Mairon was just a tad to slow. The music died unceremoniously and the ensuing silence weighed much heavier than the shock of seeing Celebrimbor at a Christmas tree farm of all places.

“Let me ask you something else then: why did he call you Annatar?”

“Because…” Mairon trailed off, looking anywhere but at his bristling fiancé. He wanted to listen to ‘Last Christmas’ with Melkor and laugh about how cheesy it was. He wanted Melkor to love the old classics by John Lennon and Queen. He wanted to forget he had ever met Celebrimbor, but he knew lying to Melkor would only make matters worse. “… because he got too attached and I didn’t want him to know my true identity so I could drop him whenever I wanted to.”

“So you did fuck him? Multiple times?”

“I really don’t know why you’re so mad about this, love. That was before we met.”

“How long before?”

“Does it matter?”

“How long?” Melkor repeated, his voice rough like gravel.

“A couple months.”

“…hmm.”

“Are you honestly angry with me?” Mairon asked. He felt drained of all his previous cheer. Not another fight, not now when things had been going so well. 

“I think I’m going to head to work early.” With that, Melkor disappeared upstairs. The noise of the shower cut into the silence and Mairon looked around. He wanted to burn that damn tree and the nativity display with it. What good was all this when it only led to disparities between them? 

Nothing.


	16. Thursday, December 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy :)

Mairon spent all of Thursday in the same, artificially lit conference room with Azog and Thuringwethil as he had done all week. Towers of empty paper cups obscured the burly man from customer acquisition and the air was so stale, Mairon could taste yesterday’s lunch on it. Chickpea curry with rice from the Asian takeout place on the corner. He sighed as he got up to pop open a window, then immediately pushed it shut again as a whirlwind of glacial wind and thick snowflakes blew into his face. Teeth chattering, Mairon popped open the door instead and cranked up the air conditioning for good measure. 

“You know, I think I’m finally at the point where I could use some of your Christmas cheer,” Thuringwethil murmured, bent over her laptop. She was tinkering with the figures and tables they wanted to put in to their business proposal while Azog wrote the draft and Mairon ran prognostics. It hadn’t been an easy feat to replace Erebor, such a market-dominating company that dabbled in many areas, but in the end Mairon had found just the upstart in the modern arms industry which would help raise Angband. It was a young company by name of Mordor and the prospects of merging it completely into their own business were reasonable. 

“Yeah,” Azog agreed. “Let’s listen to some festive music. Might carry us through to the end of this project.” 

“I’m not in the mood for it,” Mairon replied.

“What? You? What happened to forcing the boss to give out decorations? What happened to picking out presents for your monkey-brained fiancé?” 

Mairon’s mood soured even further. Melkor had stayed at work all throughout yesterday and Mairon had left this morning before he’d gotten up. Who cared for Christmas songs when Melkor was furious with Mairon and for no other reason than that he had cultivated relationships before they had met. It was normal. Melkor would have had other relationships… right? 

Oh dear. 

Oh no. 

Mairon reached for his espresso and downed the whole shot of it. Shuddered. 

“My monkey-brained fiancé is throwing a jealous fit and Christmas is ruining everything,” he said and went back to the numbers on his screen. Those were easy. Calculable. He fled into them and only surfaced again when Thuringwethil gently shook him to remind him that it was closing time. 

“I’m heading home,” she said. “You want to come? We could watch ‘Love, Actually’ and drink hot wine punch.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but a little birdie told me you have a date tonight, and I would only drag you down,” Mairon replied. 

Thuringwethil hovered over him for a bit, hair neatly styled, lips glossed to perfection even after nine hours in this hellhole, and then laughed softly. 

“Go talk to him, Mairon. As much as I complain about your holiday cheer, it is rather preferable to whatever this is. See you tomorrow.” She bent down and kissed his cheek before disappearing into the late afternoon. Mairon packed up his laptop and leather notebook, then slipped into his coat and locked the conference room as well as the entire floor. He was the only one left in the office and the cleaning personnel would only show up tomorrow. In the elevator, Mairon called his uber and groaned when the estimated waiting time popped up at half an hour. 

Two minutes later, he understood why.

Everything was buried in snow, from the plaza at Angband’s feet to the cars parked in front of it to the fountain two houses down. Swirls of it fluttered around, the blizzard having died to a soft snowfall. The streets had disappeared as had the sidewalk, the roofs. Just nine hours ago, there hadn’t been a flake in sight and now there was nothing else. At this rate, Mairon would have to walk home.

“Fuck this,” he said and stomped out of the building. Two steps and his shoes were soaked through, three and his teeth were chattering, four and his nose started to run.

“Do you want to end up an icicle?” Melkor’s voice was low, amused and Mairon whipped around. He leaned against the building left to the entrance, a dark spot against the blinding surroundings. Yesterday’s anger had faded from his features, replaced by half a smile that made Mairon want to strangle him. How dare he mistreat Mairon like that, be unreasonable and mean, only to show up here and act as though nothing had happened. 

“What if I do?” 

“I’ve parked the car in a garage three blocks down.”

“So?” Mairon asked, crossing his arms. 

“So, I thought I’d take you home, fill our tub with scalding hot water and we could have a bath and listen to your stupid playlist together,” Melkor said with half a shrug. “But if you don’t want to…”

Mairon’s cheeks burned with the freezing cold and if he was honest with himself, there was little he could imagine that he would like better in that moment. He debated arguing. Debated making a scene right here, or simply turning on the spot and walking home. But Melkor had just offered a some leeway. They could continue the Christmas Odyssey on his terms. 

“I want to,” Mairon surrendered at last. “…thanks.” 

Melkor grinned and offered Mairon his arm and together, they trudged through the snow.

It was much later, when they were both cuddled together under their comforter with a family-sized pizza on Melkor’s lap and an instrumental version of Holy Night trickling along in the background that a thought from this morning recurred to Mairon. 

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever been in a relationship? Before me, I mean?”

“…I’ve had affairs.”

“But nothing serious?”

Melkor didn’t reply to that. He rolled up another slice of pizza and wordlessly shoved it into his mouth, strings of cheese dripping from the corners of it. 

“It doesn’t matter, you know,” Mairon said. He leaned up and kissed Melkor’s cheek. Inside, he glowed. It all made sense now. “With who I was before, it doesn’t matter. I’m with you now, and that’ll never change.” 

“Of course not,” Melkor said. And just like that, things returned to normal. 


	17. Friday, December 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The infamous party at last, hope you enjoy :)

‘Unpleasant’ was the least of adjectives that flitted through Mairon’s head throughout Friday night, the least of insults he could conjure up to describe Manwe’s Christmas party. Melkor and him had suited up and steeled their nerves with extra shots of Espresso beforehand and Melkor cranked his favorite metal songs up extra loud on the drive to his brother’s mansion on the outskirts of town, but the music did nothing to drown out Mairon’s thoughts. Which were manifold and yet he could not find a single comforting one among them. 

Manwe was an outright bitch in the worst sense. From their one encounter in the gallery Mairon had been unable to glean much about the man, but Melkor - though generally disinclined to let his brother even into his darkest of thoughts - had let slip some facts here and there. Here were those that made up Mairon’s picture of Manwe and from which he concluded that the man was utterly disgusting: 

1\. He had several degrees in law and with them the potential to rule the country in all manners of corruption, but chose instead to spent his (father’s) fortune to help poor people and run a non-profit charity organization. 

2\. He spent his weekends rock-climbing, giving out food at homeless shelters, meditating or driving his wife to fertility clinics around the country because for some reason she could not conceive.

3\. Another favorite pastime of his was throwing potlucks.

4\. He lived a vegan lifestyle and wrote a regular blog on Zero Waste and some such nonsense.

This was funny given that the mansion whose driveway they were rolling up to, gravel crunching under the new tire Mairon had paid for, looked more like the summer residence of some grade A movie star than that of a humble, minimalistic man out so save the world. Mairon huffed and crossed his arms. Then he looked over at Melkor who gripped the steering wheel so tightly a few of his knuckles popped. He was deathly pale, something not even the handsome gray suit and bow Mairon had picked out could remedy. If anything, it gave him a deathly complexion. Mairon leaned over and kissed him on the cheek which elicited the faintest smile.

“We don’t have to stay for long, love. A polite hour, and then we are free to do as we want. We could visit our reindeer farm if you wanted.” The negotiations were still ongoing, that Thranduil character was a stubborn, cold-hearted business partner, but Melkor had a raise in payment in mind that would silence even his wine-riddled mind. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Melkor muttered. He pulled up to the front entrance, guarded by a large fountain. The house had three stories with a central part and two wings that slanted towards the back garden. Mairon was sure that it housed hundreds of wretched little rats, a suspicion that was confirmed by the plaque that had been attached above the great double doors which read ‘Valinor - Blessed Home to All’. Even through the window, jazzy Christmas music was audible as it poured from the mansion, and the pillars to either side of the doors where adorned with spiraling garlands of tinsel.

They exited the car and Mairon handed the keys over to a bedraggled looking Eönwe who sported what Mairon could only call a butler’s arrangement, complete with bow-tie, waist- and tailcoat, his blond curls slicked back. 

“Been demoted, have you?” Mairon said with a sly smile. Eönwe scowled first at Melkor, then at Mairon, then at the Porsche which they had taken care to have polished beforehand. Manwe might have the moral high ground, but in every other sense, Melkor was the more successful brother. 

“I have not,” Eönwe snapped. “I will have you know that my dear colleague Olorin fell ill with a cold and I graciously offered to do his job.”

“How very noble of you.” Mairon tucked his hand into the crook of Melkor’s elbow and guided him toward the entrance. His own suit, matching Melkor’s in cut, but with a slightly more bluish hue, rustled with the movement.

“Be careful with my car,” Melkor glowered and Eönwe shrank back the tiniest amount. Then, they walked away from the growing line of cars, the fountain and its spotlights and towards the heart of this party that already grated on both their nerves.

“Just remember,” Mairon said under his breath. “We are better than them. No matter what they say or do, their lives are miserable, their problems petty, their happiness fleeting. Don’t let them provoke you.” 

It had little effect on Melkor’s iron expression, but that was to be expected. Too much had happened between the brothers, too much of which Mairon had no idea about, for Melkor to be relaxed. Many of Manwe’s childhood friends would be here, a few distant family relations too. It was stress-city. 

Next to the door, a man in a dark navy uniform leaned against the brick, a lit pipe in one hand.

“Ulmo,” Melkor said. At that, the man looked up. His face was lined and weather-beaten, his hair and beard gray and grizzled and where his free arm should have been, the sleeve hung empty down his side. “Dear god, you look twice your age.” 

“Mel-Mel, how good of you to come. What did Manwe say to convince you,” Ulmo replied and his visage lit up into a grin. He was missing a tooth, two more replaced with golden ones. He had all the looks of a wretched old sailor, but his uniform, bulk and posture read marine. 

“Nothing, he resorted to blackmail.”

“Ah, I see.” Ulmo paused, taking a long drag of his pipe, then his eyes fell on Mairon. “And you must be the infamous fiancé. I was shocked to find that Mel-Mel here had enough social skills to even make a friend, let alone find someone who wants to marry him. Or was that blackmail too?” 

“Fuck off,” Melkor said. Ulmo shrugged, then pushed himself off the wall and trotted away, not towards the party, but to the left wing of the building where a pond hugged the corner of the house. Steeling themselves, Mairon and Melkor entered the dragon’s den.


	18. Friday, December 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part(y) Two. Enjoy!:)

“So,” Mairon said as they walked along a carpeted hallway which was hung with abstract art and decorated in hideous tones of what Mairon could only call egg-yolk and pigeon-gray. Another man clad in an outfit like Eönwe’s approached them with a selection of drinks, he was tall and thin with hawkish features and bore a name tag that read ‘Thorondor’. Mairon picked off two flutes of champagne and handed Melkor one who gulped down the entire glass and placed it back on Thorondor’s tray before the man could hush out of sight. Mairon sipped on his own. “…Mel-Mel?” 

“If you ever allude to this again, I will have to kill you,” Melkor said in reply and though Mairon knew he wasn’t serious, the strain on his voice was so pronounced that Mairon thought his vocal cords might snap. Either that or his teeth would shatter from all the grinding he was doing. Mairon let the hand at Melkor’s elbow slip down to entwine with Melkor’s. No amount of imagination sufficed to understand what Melkor was going through. Not when Mairon did not even have the full picture. He steered him through into the main hall, dodging bubbles of people in glittery dresses and expensive suits. The living space of the mansion had been cleared out to house an enormous Christmas tree that was hung so heavily with gold and silver baubles that its branches drooped under their weight. Around it, several dozen presents wrapped in all colors of the rainbow were scattered and a model steam train chugged along. Children chased each other, screeching and more important looking adults were scattered on the light parquet, clustered around tables or demolishing the buffet. At the far end, ceiling-high windows gave a perfect view of the garden which looked magical with starlight and the remains of yesterday’s snowstorm. Mairon sighed. Even he had a limit when it came to festiveness and the live orchestra playing a heart-wrenching rendition of ‘Hallelujah’ definitely surpassed it. 

“This is a lot,” Mairon said.

“Typical,” Melkor muttered. Mairon stuck to his glass of champagne, but Melkor was eager to drink himself into oblivion before they could even greet their hosts and he tracked down Thorondor for another two glasses of champagne, then returned with a big glass of gin tonic which seemed to stick to his lips. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea to get drunk when we’re in enemy territory?” Mairon asked. Another waiter passed them by, looking equally birdlike with thin features, and he picked a cupcake off his tray. It was decorated with green butter creme shaped like a Christmas tree and tasted gloriously of cinnamon and apples. Mairon licked the topping off his lips as Melkor finished his gin tonic and then they both looked at each other. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Melkor said, nodding. He pressed the empty glass into the hand of the nearest guest who looked confused, but had no chance to protest, and gestured for Mairon to follow him. 

The found Manwe and his wife, Varda, on the terrace, crouching to pass out candies to a trio of boys, all with different colors who giggled and grappled for the chocolate. Manwe was the polar opposite of Melkor, long and lithe with eyes like a blazing summer sky and hair that was so blond it seemed almost white. His suit was a pale gray that matched Varda’s long curls. Varda herself was swathed in a dress that glittered like a galaxy around her slender curves. They would have been handsome, if it hadn’t been for their revolting demeanor and the handful of stories that tumbled about Mairon’s mind of them bullying Melkor. When the children had run off and they had both straightened up again, Melkor cleared his throat. 

“Ah, dearest brother. You actually came,” Manwe said and his voice was airy, aloof with cheer. He walked up to Melkor with arms open wide and hugged his massive shoulders. Melkor made no effort to return the gesture, didn’t even flinch when Varda floated towards him on her tip-toes and pinched his cheek. 

“Not like I had a choice,” Melkor grumbled.

“Look at you, Mel-Mel, all grown-up and handsome. Really, it has been forever.” Varda and Manwe grinned at each other, then at Melkor. 

“Would you please drop that stupid nickname?”

“Listen to that,” Varda gasped, hand clutched over her heart. “Our darling boy learned to say ‘please’. That I would live to see the day.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, love.”

“Just because I never thought you worthy of being nice to doesn’t mean I never had manners,” Melkor said. 

Mairon blinked. He considered it. He couldn’t back-stab Melkor, not in front of his brother, but part of him wanted to scream out that Melkor really didn’t have manners and that this was only his anxiety showing. But really. Mairon shouldn’t. He pasted on a self-satisfied smirk and pressed closer to Melkor’s side.

“It’s true,” he said. “It does depend on the company, of course, but I have never met a person more gallant or polite than Melkor. Hi, by the way.” He added a little wave with his now empty champagne glass and all pairs of eyes fixated on him. Mairon cocked his head, grin widening. 

“Mairon,” Manwe said, gaze dark for a flicker, then the eolian quality returned to his cadence. “How good of you to come, really, you have been such a blessing for my brother here.”

“Oh yes, he had written him off as hope- and helpless.” 

“I don’t see why, really. Even before we met, Melkor was rather accomplished and successful. Famous even.”

“Infamous, rather,” Manwe said.

“Depends on who you ask.” 

“So,” Melkor said. His features had slammed shut, a mask of indifference, but he carried himself taller than just moments ago. Remember, Mairon thought, remember we are better than them in every way. “I’m here, what do you want me for?”

“Oh, there’s just a couple people I’d like you to meet,” Manwe said. He took Melkor by the shoulder and took him inside, leaving Mairon and Varda behind to… well.

“We are going to have so much fun together,” Varda said and she too took Mairon by the arm and dragged him not back inside, but toward the Western wing of the building from which shrieks tore through the serenity. Mairon had no choice but to follow.


	19. Saturday, December 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a reprieve for our boys<3 Hope you enjoy!

There was only one manner in which Mairon could fathom recuperating from the horrible evening at Manwe’s. Christmas movies. Thuringwethil had given him the idea and it just so turned out that he had planned to force Melkor into a marathon anyway. An important part of his holiday education.

“I’m not getting out of bed today,” Melkor groaned when Mairon returned to their room with two soup-bowl sized mugs of coffee. Both black because the horrors of Varda giving him a tour of their orphanage suffused with ample hints that she expected to be an auntie soon if she couldn’t at least be a mother still replayed in his head. She had introduced him to countless little brats whose names had all sounded the same. The overwhelming majority had had angel’s hair, golden and flowing and Mairon wondered whether she had adopted a whole clan of children. None of them had taken to Mairon and the feeling had been mutual. Mairon shuddered at the memory of their sticky, grabby fingers, thick with baby fat, and their disproportionately big eyes. Unnerving.

“You don’t have to, love. I don’t plan on either except for food or more caffeine,” Mairon replied. He placed the two mugs on the bedside table and slipped under the covers which were warm and snuggly from Melkor’s body heat. Melkor caught him around the middle and pulled him close, face buried in Mairon’s chest and he let out a long-suffering groan. He hadn’t disclosed what Manwe had put him through, but when they had finally reunited, hidden in an upstairs bedroom, Melkor had had all the pallor and posture of a sheet, and his hands had been trembling. Under different circumstances, Mairon would have seized the opportunity and coaxed Melkor into thoroughly desecrating Manwe’s space, but he had never seen his fiancé so distraught and so all thought had fled his mind, but the one to get him home and into bed safely. Mairon had quietly urged Eönwe to bring their car and had driven the Porsche back. His inclination had been to flee the country, but that would have been silly. The memory of Melkor’s oppressive, brooding silence weighed even heavier than that of Varda’s histrionic insistence that they have children together. 

“Easy for you to say, I bet you already ran half a marathon.”

“So? You’re no runner,” Mairon replied and caught Melkor’s head in his arms, placing a flurry of soft kisses on top of it. Melkor gave a contented noise. “Let’s never visit your brother again, shall we?” 

“Agreed.” 

“How about some movies?” Mairon rubbed his cheek against Melkor’s forehead to get him to look up and he did, only to draw Mairon into a long, savored kiss that dispelled all the heaviness from his heart. Melkor was fine, would be fine. No phantom from his past could destroy what they had built for themselves. Mairon disentangled himself from it, elbows braced by Melkor’s ears. He traced one eyebrow with his thumb and grinned.

“Is there a chance that they won’t be Christmas-themed?” Melkor said. It had perhaps been meant as a quip or an expression of exasperation, but it came out only as a resigned sigh. 

“None at all,” Mairon replied. He kissed Melkor’s nose, then reached over for his phone. They had a television in their bedroom which they rarely used, but for lazy weekends such as this, it was ideal. Mairon nestled against Melkor’s side and turned it on, humming under his breath. 

“Mairon?” Melkor said at some point while Mairon was neck-deep into scrolling through a list of all Christmas movies their various subscriptions had to offer. He knew what he wanted to put on, but he didn’t dare strain Melkor’s patience just yet. A classic to start them off, perhaps. Mairon landed on Home Alone and started it on a whim. 

“Yes?”

“I love you.” 

Mairon blinked, tearing his gaze away from the screen, his thoughts away from the food he was about to order. Melkor watched the movie, a constant tug on his mouth as though he couldn’t smother the smile that wanted to obviously to be let out. 

“I don’t say it quite often enough, I think,” he continued, eyes glued to the screen whose sounds were swelling and pulling on Mairon to pay attention. “But I do. I love you.” It wasn’t like Melkor, these earnest, soft-spoken professions out of the blue, and Mairon thought momentarily to be caught in a dream still. “Don’t look so surprised, c’mere.” Melkor pulled him close again and kissed his temple. “Now let’s watch your dumb movies.”

“Gladly,” Mairon said. He relaxed into his lover’s embrace and though he was never quite able to turn off his stream of conscious and simply be, it was the closest he would ever get to it. They spent all morning watching the Home Alone movies, then turned to the Muppets’ rendition of a Christmas Carol and at last, after taking a lengthy break for food and a shower - which was drawn-out by Melkor’s insistence on torturing Mairon with touches to the brink of his sanity, something Mairon repaid in kind after - he finally dared to put on Love, Actually. It was a movie jack-full with cheesy cliches and unrealistically romantic scenarios and as Mairon had expected, Melkor didn’t tire for one second of pointing out how stupid he thought it all was. It was the most fun he’d ever had watching it and after, they made love once more, slowly this time, pausing to enjoy the taste of each other, the noises tiny and big they could wring from each other with carefully placed finger tips and though it did not eradicate all the arguments they had had this month, the evening at Manwe’s, it made those instances pale. Whatever happened, their love would prevail.


	20. Monday, December 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy :) Only four more days to go aaaaah

With the Mordor deal well underway and Christmas fast approaching, Mairon found himself with little to fill his time at work. He spent the morning on finalizing touches on their new office - an airy room with two window fronts and its own small coffee bar which Ancalagon had labored long to persuade Gothmog into - while Thuringwethil was on the phone with their lawyers to talk over the contract they had drafted for the cooperation. After, they allowed themselves a two-hour lunch break in which they had excessive amounts of cookies Mairon had brought, the last reserves of his and Melkor’s baking frenzy, and talked over their respective love lives, their plans for Christmas, and everything in between. It was refreshing in the least and gave Mairon the perfect opportunity to invite Thuringwethil to the dinner he had planned for Christmas Eve.

“You? Hosting a dinner party? Jesus, that almost sounds… sociable. You sure this whole Christmas thing didn’t scramble your brains?” she asked, sucking noisily on a candy cane when their cookie stores were depleted.

“I can be sociable,” Mairon replied. He got up and turned a potted plant on the window sill by ninety degrees, something he had done at least three times in the last hour alone, but no position seemed quite right to him. 

“Sure you can, but you rarely enjoy it.”

“Well… it’s Christmas, right? I want to spend it with my friends.”

Thuringwethil sighed and started to clear up the mess they had made, put on the coffeemaker once more. They would have to get back to work, but for once in his life, Mairon didn’t feel inclined to do it. He had allowed his mind to wander towards the Christmas Eve dinner and that meant it honed in on all the aspects that still had to be settled. Somehow, he had procrastinated dealing with them and now it would come back to bite him. He hadn’t handed out any invitations, he hadn’t planned the menu yet, hadn’t decided on a theme, on the decorations, the music, he wasn’t even sure that they owned enough chairs to host the people he had in mind, but all of that wasn’t the worst of it. Mairon had not even brought the idea up with Melkor and with only four days until Christmas Eve, well. To say Mairon expected another argument would be an understatement. 

“Does that mean you will come?” Mairon asked. He attempted to distance himself from his apprehensions. He couldn’t. Melkor’s anger, the lack of planning, the spontaneity it all cumulated in a distinct feeling of helplessness, his gut plummeting as though in free fall. Mairon pulled out his planner. It wasn’t like he had a lot of work to do anyway, nothing he couldn’t power through in an hour at the end of the day and besides, Angband’s end of the year wrap-up was usually crammed into the few days between Christmas and New Year’s. Mairon would work the overtime anyway so why not take some time to make away with his stress now?

“Sure will,” Thuringwethil said. She handed him a Latte.

“You can bring Shelob if you want to. She seems… interesting company.” 

“Depends on her mood.” A shrug. “Sure, I’ll bring her along, why not. We can always use Boxing Day for some one-on-one time.” A wink. Mairon mimed gagging, but really, he was happy for her. This was much better than having her dissolve into tears at her desk or screaming at him for his Christmas cheer. “Who else is coming?” 

“Oh, I’m still working on that,” Mairon said. He opened a blank page in his notebook and wrote ‘Guest List’ in neat, cursive script at the top, then added Thuringwethil and Shelob as well as Gothmog. He would ask Azog too, he could bring his family if he wanted to, and Smaug though it was unlikely he would show. The man had an unhealthy gambling habit and not even the holidays would keep him out of the casino. 

“Alright. What’s for food then?” 

“I don’t know.”

“That’s unlike you.”

“Thuringwethil. I haven’t even decorated our tree.” Mairon’s pen came to an abrupt halt as the realization came with the words. He hadn’t even decorated the fucking Christmas tree, that was the state of things. 

“But you didn’t just make up this idea, right?”

“Of course not,” Mairon hissed. He returned to his notes and started a new page. Ideas for the menu. Now this was were matters got complicated. He wanted at least three courses. He wanted a coherent theme, dishes that would impress and work together and if he had to spent all day in the kitchen for it. But he also wanted Melkor to like the meal which limited his options significantly. 

“Good,” Thuringwethil said. She settled at her own desk and leaned back in her new chair, the back-rest adjusting to her position. Ancalagon had to be bristling still and that thought appeased Mairon, if only a little. “Or else I would have called an ambulance because that would really be unlike you.” 

“I’m fine.” Mairon waved the pen at her, thankful when she fell silent and the room filled with the rhythmic clacking of her keyboard. The next hour or so was spent in frantic scribbling. Gone was his ambition for neat spacing, his tendency to put thought and precision into every letter. Ideas flooded his mind all the way from arranging a raclette grill to roasting a duck, but none seemed to stick. There was no one theme he could settle on that also fulfilled Melkor’s tastes in food. An idea struck him halfway through the afternoon, when a nasty visual slithered into his mind, a memory of Manwe and his giant buffet and his revolting personality. But it might solve his problems or at least take away the blame from his person. And it would unite the dinner under one key word. But he couldn’t, could he? 

“Say, what do you think about potlucks?” Mairon called out and Thuringwethil glanced over her shoulder. “I know the idea is preposterous, but it would work, right?”

“Sure, why not.”

Great. Now Mairon only had to convince Melkor. 


	21. Tuesday, December 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know shamefully little about Feanorians so pls forgive any ooc-ness. Hope you enjoy :)

“Where are we going this time?” Melkor asked when he picked up Mairon after work in what was fast becoming a habit. Mairon couldn’t say he minded, neither the money he saved, nor the increase of time they got to spend with each other. He even stood Melkor’s terrible taste in music, bore it with a dismissive sigh. Anything was better than being carted around by incompetent students who thought to enhance their financials and the only thing Mairon missed about regular uber drives was giving voice to his frustrations by writing excessively negative reviews. 

“Helcaraxe,” Mairon said. His heart warmed as Melkor pointed towards the cup-holder where a venti Starbucks coffee waited for him. “Thanks, love.” So what if his caffeine intake was slightly out of hand, he blamed it on the holiday stress. 

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.” 

Although it was well into the afternoon, the ice rink wasn’t overrun which suited Mairon just fine. It had been more than a year since he had last gone skating and something about the deep rift between Melkor’s eyebrows told him that his fiancé hadn’t, ever. This reflected in the fact that it took him more than ten minutes to even get his feet into the ice-skates and he only managed in the end with Mairon bending down to help him. By then, they were both fuming with annoyance at a group of teenagers who were seated on the stands several feet down, singing Christmas pop songs as a choir. Their leader was a thin kid with long dark hair who Mairon thought looked vaguely familiar, but that didn’t make him want to punch the guy any less.

“Can they stop,” Melkor groaned as he got too his feet. He stood for one long breath before his knees gave way and he wobbled on the blades, crashing into Mairon who barely caught him. As though they had heard him, the teenagers' voices swelled.

“Yo,” someone called out from the ice.

“Big bro,” the same voice, but slightly more agitated which made Mairon glance over his shoulder. A pair of identical red-haired boys, no older than ten Mairon thought, stood by the balustrade that surrounded the rink and addressed the group of singers.

“Make your friends sing our favorite song,” they said together and then kicked off, skating away arm in arm. The dark-haired teenager laughed and soon enough, the group began to hum the first notes of ‘Santa Clause Is Coming To Town’. Mairon sighed and straightened his fiancé, then slowly guided him towards the ice. 

The first half hour or so was painstaking. They made slow progress as Mairon had to remember how to work his muscles, how to propel himself forward and not falter and all with a man nearly twice his weight clinging to his arm. Melkor cursed everything in his path. The music, the people, the ice which was choppy from use, the day the sport had been invented, the borrowed skates which surely had to be too dull, the cold air, the itch in his nose, the aches he had from yesterday’s gym session, the list went on and on. When at last, Mairon managed to place Melkor by the balustrade and pry himself out of his steely grip, when he regained confidence in his own skating abilities, Mairon went for a couple rounds by himself, testing out his limits. The group choir was now drowned out by the stereo overhead and the two red-headed twins were causing a ruckus in the middle of the rink where they were arguing with a tall, equally red-headed guy who chided them with a stern expression. He was missing a hand and his gaze kept flitting over to a lonesome skater, a middle-aged man with dark hair who wore a glacial gaze and drew perfect little circles with the blades of his skates. Mairon watched the man do a half-hearted jump, then land and skate the next few feet backwards before he fell back into an easy forward motion. Ignorant to the people around him.

Mairon mimicked him and too focused on his own skating. It went reasonably well. Melkor still hung around the outside, a hard grip on the balustrade and mowing over the handful of children that were out on the rink. This was not how Mairon had wanted this to go, but it was good enough. It was only when he had to brake sharply as his paths crossed with that of the man, that Mairon toppled over and landed on his knees. Jarring pain shot through his thighbones and had his hip and teeth rattle. The man laughed and extended a hand.

“Forgive me, I was deeply in thought,” he said and his voice was rough but not unkind. Mairon took the proffered help and brushed tiny specks of ice from his pants and coat. He looked up to thank the man when realization struck him. 

“You are Feanor,” he blurted out, too surprised to meet the man on the ice rink of all places to remember propriety. Suddenly, the clusters of random, vaguely familiar people made a lot more sense. They would have to be his seven sons, the ones that had inspired the cutlery set Mairon had ordered.

“The very same,” Feanor said, chin rising slightly. “Do I know you?”

“Hardly. I am a… customer.” Mairon smiled and shook Feanor’s hand which he was still clutching. 

“A customer? Oh, you mean my Etsy shop?”

“Indeed. I admire your handiwork. Shall we?” They fall into an easy rhythm, blades gliding across the ice and dodged another set of Feanor’s children, two dark-haired boys that were trying to upset the balance of a third, blond one. 

“Daaaad,” the blond boy called after them, but Feanor ignored them. 

“Your sons?” Mairon asked.

“The lights of my life,” Feanor sighed. “Do you craft yourself?”

“Oh, I dabble, but nothing as fancy or qualitative as what you do. Those cuff links really are something.”

“Thank you, I dare say they are my best work…” Mairon had hit a vein and Feanor went on and on about his process, where he sourced his materials from, how he kept his children out of his workshop. Mairon listened, ignoring Melkor’s confused and jealous glances from the sidelines and by the end of it, he had gained a new guest for his Christmas Eve dinner. 


	22. Wednesday, December 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy :)

Mairon got up early the next morning, riddled by his anxiety over the upcoming dinner party. He had gingerly breached the topic with Melkor after they were done skating, but Melkor had been disinclined towards conversation and had grunted his approval in what Mairon suspected was incomprehension. So much for that, then. 

He ran and ran until his lungs gave out, shuddering in the frosty air and once, his feet nearly slipped on a frozen puddle, but he made it home and took a long, compensating shower and still, his teeth chattered, his heart went way too fast. Mairon forewent getting dressed in favor of easing some of his apprehension. Barefoot, he descended into the basement, shivering against the cold air as his towel was the only thing keeping him warm, and carried upstairs the three boxes of Christmas tree decorations he owned. He had lain awake nearly all night and had pondered the color scheme, the shapes he wanted. The tree was so far from symmetrical that hanging the ornaments in such a way would make it look even more discordant. But then again, the thought of randomly hanging them made the hairs on his arms stand up. As Mairon placed the three boxes in a semi-circle around the tree, he still had no idea how to choose the palette. The tree stood silent and proud, a rich green that filled his nostrils with the scent of pine and soil. 

“A gut feeling?” he muttered. “Chance?” 

It was vile, but at this point, he had no time and no capacity left. He closed his eyes and felt around for one of the boxes, popped it open and gingerly reached for the first ornament his fingers came into contact with. It fit perfectly into his palm, a sphere of clear glass, filled with long bits of glimmer that would have shone icy blue and snowy white in better light. A silvery string was attached to it so Mairon hung it on the tree. His parents had always taught him to put in the fairy lights first, but in silent defiance of them, Mairon thought to leave it to last. He smiled at the singular, shimmering ball and some of his anxiety eased at last. It was to be a winter theme, then. 

As is that had been an invisible cue, his fiancé padded down the stairs and flopped down onto the couch, the picture of grumpy sleepiness. 

“Solve a puzzle for me, Mairon,” Melkor said, arms crossed over his chest. He was naked from the waist up and his sweatpants hung low on his hips, his hair a frizzy, dark halo around his head. No good morning, no nothing.

"Someone has left their manners in bed...”

“No,” Melkor replied and watched Mairon as he retrieved another of the spheres - they were a set of four - and hung it as far away from the first one as possible. “No more discussions on my manners.” 

“Fine then,” Mairon said. He made sure they hung both securely on the tree, then walked over to place a soft kiss on Melkor’s forehead, but he was batted away. Here we go again, he thought and he was oh so tired of this. Two more days and then Mairon had a notion never to mention Christmas again. He returned to the task at hand, pulled out a set of pale gray, moon-shaped ornaments and gently hung the first on one of the sparse upper branches, careful not to shatter the delicate object by handling it carelessly. What little cheer this task had brought him had died with Melkor’s sultry mood. “What is it?”

“How is it that a person takes their significant other on a date and then proceeds to ignore them for the better part of it to chat with a random stranger?”

“Is this jealousy again? Because I thought we had talked about that.” Mairon tutted quietly and finished hanging the tiny moons. The next set he retrieved were simple spheres of matted silver, adorned with a swirly pattern of glitter. Mairon owned them in three sizes, three each, and spent the ensuing minutes of Melkor’s silence contemplating whether he wanted to use them all. He had just settled on yes, he would, when Melkor spoke, so softly it was almost inaudible and Mairon’s patience was quickly exhausted. 

“No, not jealousy,” Melkor replied. 

“What then? You’re annoyed because you were no good at skating? I wasn’t for the first three times I went either, you have to practice it. Brawn is no good on the ice.”

“I’m annoyed because you abandoned me. I didn’t want to go ice skating in the first place, but thought to try it for your sake. At least I would have your company to make up for the misery of stumbling about like a blind fool. Honestly, the next you want to go skating, just go and do it.” 

When Mairon glanced over his shoulder, Melkor’s eyes were closed. His face was flat, blank, the circles under his eyes were stark. Mairon exhaled softly and hung the ornament he held in his fingers, then tip-toed over again and sunk down onto the couch. Melkor wasn’t wrong. Mairon just hadn’t thought he would mind so much. Had assumed Melkor would get the hang of skating and love it as much as he did and they would come back a hundred times over. It had been foolish, of course. Mairon knew of Melkor’s low tolerance for skills he didn’t instantly excel at.

“I’m sorry, dear,” he murmured and brushed his lips over Melkor’s cheek. “I’m sorry, I had only meant to take a few rounds and then collided with Feanor and we got caught up in chatting.”

“You knew that man?” Melkor asked, popping one eye open. 

“Not really, remember that cutlery I ordered? It was from him, so naturally, I had to ask him how he’d made it.”

Against Mairon’s expectations, Melkor barked out a short laugh.

“Naturally,” he said and shook his head. “Dear god, I hate you sometimes.” 

“And I you.” Mairon smiled. “Now help me decorate this tree, it has to be ready for our guests.”

“…what guests?”


	23. Thursday, December 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit angsty, this one, but necessary. Hope you enjoy!:)
> 
> Only one more left to go aaaaaah

Mairon would have loved to claim that no shouting had been involved. That he had lain out his plans to Melkor in a calm manner, that Melkor had nodded along and agreed graciously with all Mairon had suggested and then they had utilized their time before work and their state of undress to smooth out the last kinks of this upset to their relationship. 

Alas, it had not gone down that way. There had been a lot of shouting and groaning, the occasional insult and declaration of anger and after half an hour of that Melkor had finally agreed to Mairon’s plans, with a half-hearted sigh and a grumble of ‘you are going to pay for this once Christmas is over’. Mairon would pay any way Melkor deemed fit. He was in his fiancé’s debt as it was, for indulging him and his moods, for popping the tire on the car, for the string of exes and incidents of jealousy he had been exposed to. Yes, Mairon would gladly pay any price. Anything for Melkor.

Only then had they come together and hastily desecrated the dinner table before going off to their respective work places. Melkor was wrapping up his last couple of projects and Mairon had only gone to work for their annual pre-Christmas office breakfast.

When Mairon turned over in bed the next morning to start his day with a deep kiss that tasted of morning breath and Melkor and last night’s red wine, Melkor wasn’t there. His side of the bed was rumpled and the floor around it strewn with clothing. They were both supposed to be off for the day, off until after Christmas, but the ties and dress shirts implied that Melkor had some business left to finish after all. Mairon grabbed his phone and opened his messenger to find a message from his fiancé from three hours ago. Four in the morning. Jesus Christ, Melkor had to be up to something.

Last minute work thing, don’t wait with dinner. Love you. 

Mairon quipped an eyebrow. This was unexpected and uncalled for and he couldn’t help the twinge in his gut. There were still so many traditions he needed to share with Melkor and with only one day left. He wanted to show Melkor… wanted to take Melkor to… well. A lot of places, he was sure. Mairon got out of bed and tiptoed around the mess. He would clean it up later. 

Something about it gave him pause, though. Mairon hovered, one hand on the door frame and scowled. The ties that littered the floor were all those Melkor never wore. A yellow one he had received from Manwe for some birthday or other. A charcoal-colored one he and Mairon had shoplifted on their second date which Melkor always claimed was too precious to wear. A set of striped ones his employees had given him for Christmas last year. These all usually rested in a bottom drawer and the shirts too were old ones. Radiance faded with age or those that had small tears Mairon had yet to mend. The chaos was staged, intentional. It had to be, or Melkor wouldn’t have pulled out these items. 

“What are you up to?” Mairon murmured. Melkor scheming was never a good sign. It always resulted in destruction, whether material or personal, emotional or spiritual, Melkor simply wasn’t a thoughtful man. Of course, he excelled at his profession, but that was about all. Mairon rubbed his eyes and yawned. He would not let this get him down. He would not try and discern what this meant lest he drive himself crazy. 

Fine, then. It wasn’t like he needed Melkor around to enjoy his last few days of Christmas joy. There was still a lot to prepare for Christmas Eve. Thuringwethil and Shelob would come, Gothmog and two of his younger brothers as well as Feanor and his eldest son, the guy who was missing a hand as Mairon had learned during their skating session. So would Ancalagon, who had overcome his grudge over the office when Mairon had brought him some of Finrod’s best roast beef for the breakfast celebrations yesterday, and Glaurung, another of their accountants. He wasn’t their chief, but the oldest around, in Angband since it had been founded and the accountants lovingly called him dad. To Mairon’s great surprise, Melkor had invited an old friend from high school. He hadn’t thought that there were any such people, but Melkor said that she had helped him through some tough times and pull the old prank on his brother and his horrible friends. Her name was Ungoliant and if Mairon was honest, he couldn’t wait to meet her. 

Mairon ignored Melkor’s mayhem and went to take a long, contemplative shower instead. Tendrils of doubt tried to creep in, hasty visuals of what Melkor would be doing, why he had tried to create such a ruse to get away for a day. Mairon wasn’t overly emotional, he wasn’t. He loved Melkor, but he wasn’t attached, wasn’t clingy, wasn’t… wasn’t jealous. Except. Except there was that twinge still. But Melkor wouldn’t go out and betray his trust like that, it wasn’t like him. 

I like things the way they are. Which includes you.

That was what Melkor had said what now seemed an eternity ago. Had Mairon scared him away with all his persistence? Had his mission failed? 

Mairon shook his head and got out of the shower. He was being silly. Facts. Facts were what he needed.

Melkor had left as early as four in the morning and had created a diversion to make Mairon think he was at work… probably. 

Melkor never got up that early if he could help it. 

The Porsche sat idly in the driveway, covered in a thin sheen of frost.

Melkor’s wallet and keys were gone, as were his coat and gloves.

His phone lay discarded on the kitchen counter.

It just didn’t make sense. 

“Whatever it is, please be there tomorrow,” Mairon said. He took a shaky breath then put on his Christmas playlist. It was time to get this place in order and anyway, he had gift shopping to do, groceries to prepare. He wouldn’t let himself be defeated. 


	24. Friday, December 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last drabble as traditional advent calendars all end at the 24th. Thank you all for reading along, it has been a crazy month and this has been as fun as it has been exhausting. Thank you also for the kudos and comments, it really motivated me to see your reactions. Melkor and Mairon have gone through quite the journey in this haha. I hope I haven't ruined Christmas for them forever. 
> 
> I may or may not do future episodes for other holidays, but for now, this is done. Again, thank you so much, I hope this fic brightened up your December in these horrible times :) 
> 
> Merry Christmas, everyone xx

“Welcome,” Mairon said cheerfully, one hand on the arm Melkor had around his waist, the other shaking those of the guests slowly trickling in. His fiancé had returned some time during the night, looking like he had gone through hell and back, but Mairon had bitten down on his questions and accusations, had simply helped Melkor out of his rumpled suit and had forced him to go to sleep. In the morning, it had been as though the last few days hadn’t transpired. Melkor had been gruffly loving, lovable even and Mairon had allowed them a simple breakfast of cereal. 

Now, they were the picture of the happily engaged couple and more than that, Mairon felt a joint-deep happiness. With Melkor’s help he had finished cleaning the house, they had prepared the dessert and put the champagne on ice, had wrapped gift bags for all guests. They all came bringing steaming pots or ceramic casseroles, salads and baguette and Feanor and his son Maedhros, who wore an expression like seven days of rain, had even gone so far as to prepare a whole roaster. Mairon wasn’t sure it would fit in their oven, but the crafty man made it so. 

For all the last minute stressing and thrown-togetherness of the party, it turned out rather perfect. Mairon had distributed meal assignments so that they had enough to feed an army in a perfect arrangement of starters, sides and main dishes. Thuringwethil and Shelob were rather affectionate, splitting a bottle of wine between them within the first half hour and Gothmog and his brothers kept bellowing Christmas songs alongside the stereo. Ancalagon was all easy, sly smiles and wore - for the first and last time ever, Mairon suspected - a dashing arrangement of flaming reds and oranges. Next to him, Glaurung looked faded in grays and browns. Conversation and wine flowed and flowed and next to Mairon, Melkor seemed a little overwhelmed with the amount of people, but as the evening progressed, so did his state of relaxation. 

“What is that?” Gothmog said at some point, breaking into a spot of easy quiet and pointed towards the backyard. Dangling several feet above the ground, boots kicking, was Feanor’s son Maedhros who had disappeared into the bathroom earlier. Mairon could picture what it would look like from the outside, a tall and broad youth who desperately wanted to escape the party his father had dragged him to and who had thought to use the upstairs balcony as a means of escape only to find himself lacking the courage to take the jump. It would have been rather amusing if not for the splotchy red that colored Feanor’s face when he turned around.

“Impossible brat,” he hissed, getting up so abruptly that his chair toppled over. Gothmog coughed politely to shatter the awkwardness and Glaurung began to recount his plentiful weekend trips to his favorite fishing spot. In a heated and exaggerated manner to overpower the tirade Feanor was letting loose on his son in the backyard all the while trying to catch him by his legs so neither of them would topple over. It was a bit of a spectacle really, but Mairon enjoyed it too much to intervene. He leaned back in his chair, grabbed Melkor’s hand which rested on his thigh and kissed the knuckles. Melkor threw him a sideways smile even through the scowl he wore, and poured them both another glass of red wine. 

Feanor and Maedhros didn’t return to the table for a while, but that was all well. Gothmog’s brothers drew Mairon into a discussion on the Mordor deal until the doorbell rang and Mairon excused himself from the table. He wasn’t expecting anyone else nor had he space to house another guest and he hoped desperately that it wouldn’t be. In a manner of speaking, it wasn’t. It was their newest employee, Thranduil Oropherion, complete in a Santa Claus cloak and hat, his hair aflame in the soft light that spilled out from the hallway.

“Sir,” he said.

“You may be the most disheartening Santa I have ever seen,” Mairon said. “Whatever can I do for you?”

Thranduil’s nostrils flared and he bit down on whatever retort had risen in his throat. From the looks of him it had to be bitter. Mairon wanted to comment on his outfit, on his appearing on their doorstep on Christmas Eve, on anything, but his attention was quickly diverged by a fluffy, four-legged creature that padded around Thranduil’s legs, held on a long black leash, to sniff at Mairon. Mairon’s heart thumped loudly and he bent down, warmth rising to his cheeks. The dog reached up to his knees and bumped Mairon’s outstretched palm with its cold, wet nose, then gnawed on his thumb, his wrist. It tickled so much that Mairon let out an involuntary laugh. 

“Well then,” Thranduil said and dropped the leash by Mairon’s feet. “He’s all yours.” With that, he marched off, Mairon paid no heed to were. He was too entranced by the big brown eyes that stared up at him, the tufts of soft fur that grazed his skin. 

“Hello there, you beautiful darling girl,” he cooed and kissed the top of the dog’s head. “Who are you?” Someone behind Mairon cleared their throat.

“It’s a boy, actually,” Melkor said. Mairon glanced around. Melkor stood behind him in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. All the tension had faded from him and his eyes twinkled. 

“Melkor, is this-”

“It was awfully restrained of you not to ask where I was yesterday. I wondered whether you were sick or something.” 

Realization came slowly, like the soft snow flakes that drifted down from the cloudy heavens at that very moment. Mairon looked back down at the dog and yelped when its coarse tongue dragged over his cheek. Melkor came to his side and crouched down as well, held one hand out to the dog and caught Mairon’s head with the other to kiss his temple. 

“His name’s Carcharoth. The breeder told me we could always change it, but I like the ring of it.” 

“Carcharoth,” Mairon echoed, dumbfounded. Carcharoth gave a happy yap and pranced away from them, chasing after the thickening snowflakes. They both made a grab for the leash and upset each other’s balance, landed in a sprawled heap on their front lawn. Mairon laughed. So did Melkor.

“Merry Christmas, beloved,” Melkor said and kissed Mairon’s cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Mairon replied. “Thank you.”


End file.
